


Warrior Who? Season 8

by WarriorWho



Series: Warrior Who? [2]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2018-08-12 00:44:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 62,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7913800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarriorWho/pseuds/WarriorWho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Warrior is back in season 8.<br/>He has to face an unknown world and new battles, having lost his memory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 8x01 - Fire And Blood

Cold snow.

Against his cheek, his whole body pressed into it. 

The warmth of flames a few iThough he was lying still on the ground, his head was spinning as if he’d just been on a fast carousel. He tried to recall the last few events, but the more he struggled to kickstart his mind and remember, the more he felt like he was descending down an endless spiral of darkness. He couldn’t move at all and he felt like dying. Some part of him knew that it probably wasn’t true, something regarding a regeneration process still fixing him up from the inside, because a fifty feet drop isn’t that easy to heal. His bones were still being glued back together underneath his newly formed skin and muscles. 

_ Wait. _

A fifty feet drop? Where had he fallen from? How had he survived? He hadn’t survived, but why was he there now? And  _ where _ was there? The more questions he asked himself, the less he seemed to know and the more his headache grew.

Then, the sound of a blue taxi disappearing into thin air behind him sang him to sleep and, as he laid there, in the blizzard of an unknown world, one last question rang into the back of his brain.

_ Who am I? _

 

**_\--------_ **

 

His dreams ran wild through the plains of imagination: one second he was a little child with brown hair and green eyes, playing hide and seek in a field of red grass and silver trees, the next he was that same kid, curled up in a corner on a metallic floor as he rocked back and forth, crying about something terrible that had just happened, unconscious of where he was headed to. He saw the glimmer of a metallic, round object falling from somewhere and rolling towards him, he saw his small hand reaching for it, picking it up between the sobs, opening it to reveal some sort of clock. Then, finally, sleep.

There was something about that dream that felt oddly familiar to him, like a sort of nostalgia clutching the pit of his stomach in a bittersweet aftertaste. Can dreams feel like that? Of course they can, but something else in it spoke to him, whispered that it wasn’t just a dream, that it was something more, a  _ memory. _ And yet, he didn’t recognize the child, nor the red fields, nor the metallic clock. He recognized the feeling of utter forgetfulness, how it felt to lose his own identity, but just as he was about to wander deeper into his oniric world, a deep breath shook his whole body and he knew he was awake. 

For some reason, he didn’t immediately open his eyes; instead, he used his other senses to figure out where he was. His ears told him about the fire crackling into the fireplace not so distant from him, as his nose confirmed, sensing the scent of burning wood and, though faintly, the smell of food coming from somewhere else; his tongue felt a bitter breath in his mouth, along with the faintest taste of blood. Then, he realised the heavy bedsheets felt smooth and soft against his skin and it dawned on him that he was nude. That was when his eyes fluttered open, welcoming almost painfully the dim light of the fire and the wooden ceiling of the room. 

His breath had hitched up until then, but it finally calmed down as he took a few more deep breaths. 

“You’re awake.” The man’s voice came unexpected, sounding relieved, and soon its owner walked into frame, just as the man lying in the bed turned his head abruptly. Walking towards him, to then sit on the edge of the bed, was a rather short, skinny man, with salt and pepper hair and dark eyes. He wore a long, dark brown robe which stopped just above his boot-hugged feet. Immediately, the man in the bed shifted up, propping himself onto his elbows but quickly regretting his decision as he found out his whole body was aching.

“There, there, slowly.” The other suggested, reaching his hands out to help him but obtaining only rejection as he pushed himself to the opposite side. “Where am I?” He asked, with the raspy tone of who just woke up from a long slumber and startling himself at the sound of his own voice. “Who are you?” 

“My name is Wirme Malach.” The stranger said, gently placing a hand on his own chest. “And you’re in my house.” The man in the bed let his eyes wander more into the room, spotting new things in the low light of the fireplace, like the few items on the table, those being a book and one candle, or the only, rather small window on the wall opposite to the fire, outside of which he could see only dark; for a second, he thought he was staring at utter void but then, sprinkles of white fell on the thick glass, only melting down a few seconds after, sliding down, in the form of tiny streams of water, into a candid mound on the window sill. Snow.

Next thing he noticed was the actual layout of the room: the table was right in the middle, a few feet away from the fireplace, a big, wooden door on the wall which the bed was facing. Hanging from the ceiling was a heavy looking, black metal chandelier, which light didn’t really illuminate the room more. Next to him, on either side of the large bed were two nightstands, each with a lit candle on it. There was a reason why he’d thought the covers were warm and soft: they were made of fur, which was probably due to the cold weather outside and yet, even without covering his bare torso, he felt quite hot, even noticing a few beads of sweat forming on his skin. 

_ I need to get out of bed. _ He thought for an instant, again attempting at doing it and this time succeeding, but not without his whole body hurting like hell. As a slightly cool breeze, probably coming from some draft by the window, ran on his skin, he still didn’t feel cold, but modesty came over him. When he turned around to face his host, his hands joined together to hide his lower parts, he felt his ears flush lightly. 

“Could I borrow some clothes?” He asked. 

Wirme didn’t look as embarrassed as him, but he nodded, getting up from his position to move towards a large wardobe made of dark wood that the other man had noticed before. As the host rummaged through various items of clothing, his robe flowing smoothly, silk-like, he explained: “My convoy and I found you in the woods three days ago,” He said, lifting a similar looking, black robe up to see if it could’ve fit the other man. “You were wearing some strange apparel, you know?” He had apparently settled on one of a more reddish colour, and was now looking for trousers. “What is your name? Where do you come from?” 

Tired of using his hands to cover himself, the other man sat back down on the bed, grabbing the fur blankets and pulling them on his lap. He paused at the questions, while his head worked on an answer that made sense. But nothing seemed to make sense. “I… I don’t know.” He finally said, staring at the stone floor underneath his feet. “Where am I?” 

The older man arched an eyebrow while setting the clothes he’d chosen onto the bed, then tangling his hands onto his lower stomach. “I’ve already told you, you’re at my house.” 

The other shook his head. “I mean, what place is this? What-- Um…” He stopped again. “What land?” He literally couldn’t think of another word. 

“You seem to have forgotten everything about your life!” Wirme exclaimed, looking genuinely surprised at the question. “This is Narthe, the northern region of Tha’Kari.” 

Something about the name of that place sounded really familiar to the still naked man, but he shook it off as he thought that, if he had lived there before apparently losing his memory, then of course he would have recognized the name of his homeland. “Listen,” Said Wirme “Why don’t you get washed and dressed. Then, you can come downstairs to the dining hall and we can talk more.” He pointed at the clothes and then to some sort of water filled basin next to a desk with a mirror, then finally walked out of the door. The man on the bed waited for the sound of steps walking away to subside, and finally jumped out of the covers, reaching for the trousers his host had left above all of the other clothes. He wasn’t going to wash himself completely anyways. As he slipped into them, he found out he didn’t like how tight they felt; whether it was because they were a smaller size or because they were actually supposed to be like that, he felt way too… Constricted. 

After tying the few laces in a way that didn’t force him to hold his breath, he ran -as much as his tired body let him- to the mirror and, for the first time, looked at himself. 

The first thing he saw were the piercing blue eyes underneath thick raven black eyebrows and shaggy hair of the same colour. Then, by touching his cheek, he noticed the rugged stubble growing there. He pretty much knew the rest of his body already, from what he had seen until then, but he still was surprised to see a reflection of his body hair, running all the way down from his chest to underneath the hem of his pants, covering his lightly tanned skin and strong-looking muscles with dark fur. He spent a minute or two trying how his skin felt underneath his fingertips, how moving his limbs still caused him soreness, though now it didn’t really bother him anymore. He was confused, yet vaguely and strangely intrigued by his whole situation. Then, upon turning around to look at his own back, he saw the large tattoo spreading onto his skin. At first he thought it was some really big birthmark, but then he saw what shape it had and he was convinced that it couldn’t have been natural. The once wing-like design, which had muted into a full dragon, had now changed again, splitting its quite long neck into two, with two heads at each end, reaching up to each side of his neck. When the man saw it, he was startled, but then his surprise quickly faded into fascination as he ran his hands along the black paint, for as much as the uncomfortable position let him.

He had been staring at it for so long that he barely noticed it when his stomach emitted a low growl, he knew he was hungry, so he proceeded to rapidly throw some water from the basin onto himself and then finish getting dressed. Wirme had chosen a thick white undershirt with a deep neckline that was supposed to be laced together, similarly to the trousers, the reddish tunic he had seen and a pair of boots. Generally, the outfit looked a lot like his host’s, but as he wore the robe above the shirt, he realised just how hot he was starting to feel, almost sweating again, so he opted for just wearing the underclothes and the boots. Gratitude for the clothes aside and even though Wirme had saved his life, he still didn’t completely trust him, and adventuring out of the room without some sort of weapon made him feel uneasy. 

So, right before walking out, he spotted a long, rusty-looking nail protruding from the door frame and, with a bit of strength, he was able to pull it out of the wood, hiding it behind his wrist as he finally exited the bedroom, determined to face the world outside.

The space outside was a not so large, dimly lit hallway with stone walls and various ornaments hanging from them. Noticing how the objects were mostly hunt trophies, the man guessed Wirme’s family must have been one of hunters, an assumption which was soon confirmed when he looked outside one of the huge windows and saw only trees, expanding as far as his eyes could see; that’s were they had their hunts. As he later discovered, the hallway ran all across the first floor of the building -a castle?- in a U shape, leading to more rooms on the opposite side of the one h’d woken up in. In the middle, a staircase led downstairs.

The man clutched the rusty nail harder now, as he slowly made his way down a flight of wooden stairs, following the light of more chandeliers and, as he finally reached the main hall of what was  _ definitely _ a castle, albeit a rather small one, he saw even more trophies, even more fireplaces, and a long, beautifully carved wooden table, which was probably used for big feasts, or at least he thought so, because this time it had only been set for two people, on the far end of it, halfway through the hall. Wirme was waiting, sitting on one of the chairs, his hands intertwined ahead of him, elbows propped onto the table. He got up when he saw the other man. 

“There you are!” Said the host, smiling. “Please, take a seat!”

The nameless man arched an eyebrow at the vast quantity of food as even that particular detail felt familiar. Maybe he had been a noble before, feasting on delicious meats at banquets with friends, drinking the finest wines, courting the prettiest women. He shook off from his thoughts and finally approached his designated chair, not without hiding his weapon in the back of his pants first. As he sat down slowly and carefully, still somewhat expecting an ambush of some sort, Wirme seemed to notice his behaviour.

“You look nervous.” He said, joining him at the table and then leaning forward to pick up a plate of what looked like boar, then handing it to him. 

The other man let his gaze wander onto the roasted meat for a few seconds, eventually taking the plate from the other’s hands and using a knife to cut himself a big chunk. When he dug his fork in the meat, his eyes fell on it and for a moment he swore, he just  _ swore _ he wasn’t about to taste a swine, but a human leg. Startled by it, he flinched, blinking fast; the next second, he was staring at what he had originally put in his plate.

“Is something wrong?” Wirme asked, furrowing his eyebrows lightly.

“I don’t know.” He replied, eyes darting around, before handing him the meat.

“You don’t have to feel like you’re in danger.” Wirme stated, calmly. “You’re safe, here.” As he did the same thing and took a -much smaller- piece of boar, he looked up at the other. “So, do you remember anything? From… Before?”

The man shook his head. 

“Not even your name?”

A brief pause. “I… I do, though it’s not something I’d call my name… It’s more like…” He frowned at his own words, as he found it hard to explain it. “There’s this word than keeps spinning into my head but the more I think about it, the less I’m convinced it’s my actual name.” He finally announced. “It’s like an alter-ego of some sort.”

“Well,” Wirme’s eyebrows shot up. “Maybe you should use it as your name, until you remember your true one. What is it?”

Blue eyes looked up at the man dressed in black. 

“Lihan.” 

 

Their meal continued after Wirme smiled and welcomed Lihan into his new, hopefully temporary life as a man without his memory and then proceeded to tell him everything about Tha’Kari, while the other one just listened in silence, determined to assimilate as much information as he could. 

“First things first, Tha’Kari has five regions: Narthe, the northern one, where you are right now; Welos, in the west; Sarim in the south; Ery’Le in the east and finally Kar in the centre, surrounded by the Grey Sea. Each region has its capital, but the most important one is Kar, where our king, Than Reinar, rules all Tha’Kari from his castle. Also, though now the population is vast and various, in the past there were only four different peoples: Narthe was and is inhabited by the Naren; Welos has the Welosi.The proud warriors of Surim are named Surm: And in Ery’Le live the Erylien, honorable people. Of course, with time, populations began moving around their respective regions and even out of them, which obviously brought to many wars. Terrible, terrible wars.” It was the first time Wirme had paused in his tale; he did it so that he could pinch the bridge of his nose gently. 

“Are you alright?” Lihan asked, his head resting onto his hand, elbow propped on the table, with open ears and observant eyes. He shifted lightly at the other man’s action, as the ambush he’d been anticipating anxiously was going to happen right then, armies of skilled killers storming into the room to slit the throat of a man without memory. But Wirme shook him off with a gesture of his hand. “It’s nothing, I’m just a bit tired.” He said, then resuming his narration. “As I was saying, the many wars for the territories basically decimated the population, which was already scarce back then. That was when the Old Seven appeared.” 

Lihan’s eyebrows slowly gathered. “The Old Seven?” 

A nod. “The old gods. Some say their cult evolved from the worshipping of natural phenomena, others are firmly convinced that they just… Came out of nowhere. It’s not like any of the present scholars were there to witness it, and the books are rather vague about it.” Wirme seemed to be on the verge of starting another sentence, but his guest interrupted him.

“What do  _ you  _ believe?”

It didn’t seem the other man exactly expected a question like that. After all, why would Lihan even care? A man who has just lost his memory usually doesn’t want to know personal opinions about forgotten deities. At the realisation of his own curious personality, the young man found himself wondering if he’d been a scholar before whatever had happened to him, though maybe he just really liked the feeling of knowledge. 

Wirme smiled gently. “The Old Seven are almost forgotten. Well, at least five of them are. I don’t really have an opinion about their origin. It just doesn’t interest me.” 

“What about the other two?” Lihan was firing one question after the other. 

“Well, first of all, one is much more important than the other. King Than only allows the cult of one deity: Orel, goddess of war and of fertility; also called ‘the Mother’, she represents everything in this world, both sides of good and bad, as she is the one who created our world from mud and dust.”

“Who’s the other one?”

“Barath, the god of sun and fire. He has been forbidden after the Church of the Sun tried to take over Kar and kill the king.” Another pause. “You really like mythology, don’t you?” 

Lihan shrugged. “Tales of gods interest me.”

Maybe he really was a scholar. “Well, I guess I should tell you the rest of the story.” The man got up from his seat. “Come, let’s walk.”

Wirme led him out of the main hall through one of the side doors, up a couple flights of stairs, and into a long hallway similar to the one Lihan had come from before. Somehow, the windows here were even bigger; the older man talked as they approached one of them: “When the old gods appeared, the few men and women who had survived the wars had no choice but to worship them, as they were clearly superior beings, with powers that went far beyond the imagination of us humans. Apparently, one of the gods lay with a woman, and she birthed the first of House Reinar, a boy named Rakh, the first descendant of the gods. Of course humans began adoring him as well, proclaming him their rightful king. So began the Age of Grey, which continues still. As long as or king is a Reinar.”

They had by now reached the window, where the blizzard still raged in the darkness outside. Though now Lihan could see the forest around them more clearly and he leaned forward to look through the glass as Wirme spoke, listening carefully.

“What happened next?” He asked, pulling back and looking at the man with his piercing blue eyes. “Why have the other gods been forgotten?”

“They just stopped answering.” Wirme stated. “All of a sudden, or at least that’s what the old books say. They vanished overnight.” 

The explanation didn’t satisfy Lihan’s curiousity. “How is that possible?” 

The older man shrugged lightly. “Some scholars say they were superior beings from another world, that they went back there. Back home.” 

Lihan arched an eyebrow, leaning with his back against the wall. The stone was cold, but he still felt pretty good with light clothes on. “But why would they leave one of them behind?” 

“I don’t meddle with the affairs of the gods, Lihan.” Wirme’s hand lifted from its place along his sides, a signal to maybe change the subject. “I know only of what the old books say.” Something in his eyes shifted the tone, as their casual echange about the mythology of Tha’Kari had become much more personal and significant. “Some even say the six of them died. But, as their cult, this school of thought is forbidden.”

“I thought two of the Old Seven were still present.” 

“Of course Orel is the mother goddess, but Barath is considered gone like the others.” A small pause. “Though he is still venerated, as I’ve already told you.” 

Again, Lihan wondered why he was so fascinated by the ancient tales of old gods instead of more important things, like worrying about recovering his memory. Seemingly sensing another question coming soon, Wirme changed both tone and subject: “Why don’t you go rest a little while?” He suggested with a soft smile. “Now that you’ve eaten, you can sleep until the morning. It’s quite late, you know?”

Since he had gotten interrupted, Lihan had gone back to stare out of the window, bent forward, hands propped onto the stone window sill. 

 

_ Damned kid wouldn’t go down. _

 

“As you wish.” Replied Wirme, still smiling. “But I will require your help in the morning for a few chores, so you should rest.” He continued. “Then we can think about your future.” 

Chores didn’t bother Lihan. He shrugged, then nodded. 

The older man pressed his hands together. “I’ll have a handmaiden bring us something to drink. Please, excuse me, I’ll be back soon.” And with that, he disappeared down the hallway, presumably gone downstairs. In the meantime, Lihan took advantage of the seclusion to search his mind for additional details regarding his past life, combing every thought he had for clues. Up until that moment, the only thing he had noticed had been how he was maybe used to a wealthy lifestyle, but that was still a shot in the dark. He seemed not to have lost all of his memory, as he still knew what most things were; obviously he was aware of what windows, glass, stone, the food he ate, all of those things were, yet he just couldn’t wrap his head around his name -though the more time passed, the more he got used to Lihan- nor his past. Maybe he was a merchant? Were merchants in Tha’Kari fairly rich, capable of affording tender meats and fancy wines? Another option was, as he’d previously thought, a noble, but he had the feeling that if it really had been that way, Wirme would’ve known him from somewhere. Lords aren’t that anonymous.

Lihan stopped his train of thought; what was his host and saviour’s profession? Was _ he  _ a merchant? The castle didn’t look too big, but not small either. Definitely not the one of a king. Perhaps an old war hero? The man arched an eyebrow at his own idea: Wirme was much too scrawny to have been in war, even though he was slightly taller than him. Well, it’s not like he was going anywhere, so he shrugged the question off and vowed to ask him as soon as he’d come back. Light steps up the stairs adverted him that the man was coming, but what followed them sounded way too strange to be a simple handmaiden. Heavy stomps onto the wooden steps, three different people. Why getting two servants when he only needed a jug and two goblets? He didn’t have to wait long for his answer to come. 

Wirme and two of the biggest men Lihan had ever seen -at least as much as he remembered- stepped into the hallway, bridging the gap between the way dowstairs and the windows fairly quickly. They had no wine in their hands. Lihan didn’t know what to think. 

“Get him.” Wirme ordered, the two goons advancing toward their target threateningly.

“What--” The younger man couldn’t even finish his sentence, as the two men grabbed him by each arm and held him still, one of them sliding a thick but rather small burlap sack over hid head, blinding him. 

He could hear Wirme click his tongue. “We could have done this while you were sleeping…” He said, sighing. 

“What are you doing?!” Lihan protested loudly, muffled by the bag.

“Much less pain. Don’t worry, they’ll pay me good money for you.”

Right after that, something came down onto the young man’s neck, knocking him out instantly.

 

**_\--------_ **

 

As he finally came to, Lihan realised firstly how much that sack actually smelled. The scent of onions, potatoes and even blood filled his nostrils, leaving him wondering what the hell had been done with it before it had been used on him. 

The second intuition, as his head stopped spinning and he fought back the nausea caused by it, was that he was moving. But he wasn’t being forced to walk, no, he was sitting and moving at the same time. A carriage? A closed one, since he felt no air on him, nor sounds except for a few groans next to him. He wasn’t alone.

“Hello?” He tried to call out, feeling his own throat extremely dry. Third realisation: he was thirsty; fourth one: his hands were tied. “Where am I?” He asked, for the third time that night. Or was it day already? The thick juta blocked any kind of light from entering his sight. As soon as his question left his lips, someone really close to him hissed loudly. A woman. A girl.

“Shut up!” She intimated. “Do you want to live?!” 

Lihan did as she said, clenching his jaw. 

The ride seemed to last for a few more hours, but he wasn’t really sure, as he kept on dozing off at more than one point, but when they finally stopped, he heard the squeaking sound of old door hinges opening and he knew they had reached their destination, whatever that was. 

“Alright,” A man’s voice came from outside, with an accent Lihan almost didn’t understand. “Come on, you all.” He guessed they were being let out finally, but judging by his hearing, he was rather far from the exit, so he just waited until a rough hand firmly grasped his left arm and he felt himself being pulled up on his feet. Soon after that, he was pushed off the carriage and almost landed on the ground horribly, but was quick to regain his balance. A cold breeze blew on him and the significant more light than inside the vehicle led him to believe it was, in fact, morning. 

Lihan got pushed and pulled some more then, guessing he was being lined up with the other prisoners. He heard a few voices speaking, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying, until one of them spoke louder. 

“You’re here, Lord Materan!” 

To which this said Lord replied: “The shipment is grand, this week. Brilliant.” Steps approaching. “Show me.” 

The sack was pulled right off Lihan’s head, leaving him blinded by the sudden daylight, squinting and grimacing. Slowly, his eyes adjusted and he was able to see the line of about fifteen people at his sides, the fat, pale man standing in front of them, the few other men who he assumed were the ones driving the carriage and, finally, what looked like the back of a stone and wood building, like Wirme’s castle, but much, much smaller. There was snow at the sides of the backstreet the carriage had pulled in, signaling that whatever they were doing there probably wasn’t something legal. The so called Lord Materan walked in front of the line, slow steps echoing in the alley as he observed each and every one of them, fur coat nearly brushing the ground. Lihan noticed how cold it must have been when he saw many people in the line shivering, some dressed similarly to him, others wearing way less to feel comfortable in that northern weather. Looking again, he saw there were a majority of women lined up with him, about ten of them, while the remaining five were men. As Materan inspected them, he’d only say one of two words per each. 

“Thafel.” He’d say to some. “Marybel.” To others, smirking mischievously like a child who has just said a bad word behind his parents’ backs. 

Eventually, the large man got to him. Materan stared up at him, being fairly shorter than him, and almost immediately brightened. “Oh, I like this one!” He exclaimed, lifting a hand to feel the young man’s arms. “He’s strong, but…” His sweaty hand was on Lihan’s chin, feeling his jawline with a thumb. He didn’t dare move.

“But so pretty as well… You’ve brought me a real riddle, Kilou!” The Lord laughed with one of the drivers, who grinned back at him. “I’ve decided!” He then announced. “Your beauty would be wasted at Thafel, my dear. Marybel it is!” With that, he let go of him, leaving him even more confused than before. What did those words mean? Were they places? Why did one of them value physical strength while the other prized looks? Slowly, while the man finished his round, an idea crept into his mind, it only starting to confirm when Lihan noticed how the line had been divided.

Seven people were going to the first location: The five men and two women Materan had deemed ‘ugly’. The other nine, who were destined to the second, consisted in the remaining women… And Lihan. 

And as the group going to Thafel was brought back into the carriage, its destination presumably far from whatever city they were in, the young man and the others were led inside the building from a backdoor.

The scent of spices and sweet oils entered Lihan’s nostrils, abrupt and strong enough to make his head spin and his guts turn, but something told him he’d have to get used to it. As they were led down a corridor and into the main hall of the building, Lord Materan gleefully welcomed to Marybel, and his words finally clicked into Lihan’s brain. Marybel was a brothel. Of course the prettiest people-- the prettiest  _ slaves _ were sent there: no one wants to fuck a cross-eyed, hunchbacked farmer. Better send those off to Thafel, where they probably work themselves to death.

An awful sense of unease clutched Lihan’s insides when he heard the first moans, coming from both the very hall they were in, where many prostitutes, both women and men, were already serving their clients, and from upstairs, inside more private rooms, probably sold to nobles who didn’t want to be seen in such a place, coming and going from the backdoor -both literally and metaphorically- engulfed in cloaks to not be recognized, returning home to their unsuspecting wives or husbands.

Lord Materan turned to look at the new arrivals once more, then gesturing to a auburn haired girl, who was sitting on a stool and sipping from a glass of wine, to come over. “Jaela, dear, come here, please.” He said, smiling from ear to ear. Jaela set her drink down and approached them with a smile curling her plump lips, a light linen dress left little to the imagination as she slowly waddled closer sensually. 

“Will you take care of them? Show them around?” The Lord of the brothel cooed, a hand caressing her bare shoulders. Her green eyes flickered to each of the ten people standing before her. “Of course.” She replied, flashing them her teeth. 

“Oh! You’re a doll.” Materan cackled. “Don’t forget to take care of all that hair, too!” He added, pointing at Lihan briefly, then leaving her with a kiss on her cheek.

Jaela took a few seconds to call a few more girls, who took the disoriented nine women off somewhere else, leaving her alone with Lihan as she assured them she  _ ‘knew what to do’ _ . 

And a few moments after, Lihan was sitting naked in a basin filled with warm water, jaw clenched, staring ahead of himself as his mind raced to find a way to get out of there. Wirme had betrayed his trust, sold him as a slave, and probably to good money too. Water dripped slowly from Lihan’s wet nose, falling down with rhytmical, constant little  _ plops _ . Somehow, it was still distracting. He felt anxiety grow within him, inhibiting him from thinking straight. 

_ Plop, plop, plop. _

The room was small, a bathroom, quite cold, stone walls, wooden floor and ceiling.

_ Plop, plop, plop. _

Three long, vertical windows. Not openable. Too small to fit through.

_ Plop, plop, plop. _

Maybe he could’ve broken them, punched through the glass, jumped outside.

_ Plop, plop, plop. _

“Damn it!” He cursed, not loudly enough to be heard, punching the water and causing it to slosh against his body. That was when the wooden door opened. 

Jaela walked in with a wooden tray; a bowl and a couple of cleanly folded towels sitting on it. As she crouched next to the basin, she smiled at him, opening one of the towels to reveal a sharp looking razor. Lihan immediately drew back, pictures of his own blood pouring out of his slit throat and into the water below flooding his brain, until he remembered Materan’s words a little earlier.

_ “Don’t forget to take care of all that hair” _

In fact, the bowl contained a white, foamy substance. Jaela was dipping her hand into it, then reaching it out to Lihan’s face. Once again, he pulled back.

“I don’t want to.” 

The girl’s sweet and sensual smile dropped lightly. “No one wants to fuck a hairy whore.” Her remark hit Lihan like a slap on the face, stinging every time he thought back on the last word from then on. He limped up, going back to stare blankly ahead as she slowly shaved his stubble, reaching down to rinse him with some water or to smear some more cream on his face. Once she was done, she moved down to his neck and then began working on his chest. 

A stupid question came to Lihan’s lips. “Why am I here?” 

A soft chuckle. “Everyone asks that, at least once.” 

“That’s not an answer.” 

Jaela stopped to look up at him. “Fine. Short answer is: you were sold. But I think you know that already. Me telling you is just some sort of way you can feel better about it.” 

She was right. Lihan silenced up again as the prostitute completed removing every single hair from his chest. He was nearly dozing off when she spoke again. 

“Alright, stand up.”

“What?” He stuttered.

“I need to shave the rest of your body, stand up.”

Overwhelmed by a sudden wave of modesty, Lihan flushed. “Can’t I do it myself?” 

Jaela rolled her eyes, clicking her tongue. “I have yet to meet a man who can shave his own balls and arse.” Seeing he wasn’t moving, she lightly pushed his shoulder. “Come on, I won’t bite.” She then smiled again, but the word  _ ‘whore’ _ still echoed into Lihan’s mind. However, he finally did as she said, and that’s how he found himself standing up, water reaching up to his calves, as a woman ran a razor onto his lower back and buttocks first, and onto his groin a while later. As the most embarrassing part came to an end, Jaela suggested he’d sit back down, only this time with his legs over the edge of the basin, so that she could raze them better. 

So Lihan stared at the ceiling now, ears and cheeks flushed bright pink and not giving signs of going back to their original colours. 

“A man usually does this.” Jaela suddenly said, some place between his heel and his knee. “To other men.”

Lihan frowned. “In general?”

“No, here at Marybel.” 

“Then why are you doing it to me?”

“I thought you were really cute.” 

He could hear the smile in her voice. He swallowed thickly. 

“And a woman does it to women?” He asked.

“Pretty  _ and _ smart.” She chuckled. “Also, there are only three men in here, except for Lord Materan,” She lowered her tone. “If you can call  _ him _ a man, am I right?” Another small laugh. “And well, you, but they were all busy.” 

“I see.” 

“Well,” Jaela finally got up, grabbed the tray and finally looked down at him. Their gazes met. “I’m done.” 

“Oh.” The modesty had subsided to a certain yearning, as if he’d liked the girl holding a sharp blade to his skin. Maybe it was the simple human touch. Lihan watched her as she placed the towels on the edge of the basin, next to him, and then proceeded towards the door. “Dry yourself and come to the other room.” She accompanied her words with a smirk he had only seen downstairs, earlier that morning. 

“You’ve got a lot to learn.” And with that, she was gone. Not too far, he hoped.

As Lihan basically jumped outside of the basin, he almost tripped and fell head first onto the floor, but managed to regain his balance and quickly toweled off, only then noticing how the clothes he was wearing before had disappeared, probably taken by Jaela. Of course. 

Luckily, one of the towels was big enough to be wrapped around his waist, though only reaching down to his mid-thigh. Well, at least he wasn’t going around stark naked. And so once again he was about to exit a room, to face another unfamiliar world outside. 

He retraced the hallway he had gone through with Jaela until he found an open door and walked inside a very large bedroom, likely to be one of those rented by nobles for their getaways: its purpose was obvious, as the only things in it were a massive, circular bed, a huge amount of soft looking pillows and carpets. On each side of the bed were small tables with pipe-looking objects; Lihan assumed they were used for smoking, but what? Opium? 

“Here you are.” Jaela’s voice came from his side. She was still wearing her linen dress, auburn hair falling softly onto her chest and back. “At least you’re not late for your first lesson.” Then, as if to make a dramatic entrance along her words, two more people entered the room. One was a short, curvy, blonde girl with brown eyes, the other was scrawny, boy with golden locks of hair and the bluest eyes he’d ever seen.

Both fairly pretty, both with not one hair on their body, both completely naked. 

“You have to start from somewhere.” Jaela stated, while Lihan  clenched his jaw again. “This is your life now, whether you like it or not.”

  
  


**_((To be continued.))_ **


	2. 8x02 - A different start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warrior has to get used to his new life.

**_A different start_ **

 

Jaela’s ‘lessons’ were far from what Lihan would’ve called boring.  _ Exhausting _ , of course, leaving him almost sore at the end of the day. Every morning, the redheaded woman would knock on the door to his small room -almost a cell, really- and call his name. 

“You better be ready soon!” She hollered from the other side, a giggle in her voice. Then, Lihan could always hear the sound of a food tray being set down on the floor: his breakfast. Nothing too fancy, nor sophisticated, just a bland loaf of bread and a wooden bowl of milk. The same for everyone, as far as he knew. 

The real meals only came to the most… Requested of them, who got lucky enough to land richer clients who paid more not just for their services, but often clothes, jewels and rare meats as well. This was explained, along with other advice about their duties, to him on his second day at the brothel, after Jaela had sent him to bathe and rest later in the same afternoon. ” _ Secrets of the job”  _ she'd called them, cackling as she often did when she spoke, or at least when she talked to him, which was indeed pretty regularly, the girl guiding him through his days and through his lessons, though never taking part in any of them. Maybe her title of ‘teacher’ required her to not join in, for some reason Lihan wasn't aware of. In fact, even though Jaela was rather open and available whenever he had a question for her; she even asked  _ him _ questions sometimes, which made him feel slightly uncomfortable, though he never refused to answer. The queries she had for her pupil ranged from milder subjects, like what he could remember day by day, to more daring ones, which could have made a sailor blush. One of the reasons Lihan always answered was the fact that they had always had such a close bond, albeit it being more physical than psychological, since the beginning, so he didn't feel like he should have hidden anything from her. 

He trusted Jaela, but he’d find himself wishing they could get closer on a spiritual level most of the times; she was his teacher, not yet his friend.

 

Apart from the more ‘technical’ aspects of pleasing a client, whether it was a man or a woman, Lihan learned lots of other facets of working there at Marybel, like how there were more prostitutes there than he’d previously imagined, since it apparently was the biggest house of pleasure in all of Narthe, and how his partners during the lessons always changed every other day. Jaela said it would’ve helped him  _ “Find his way around different bodies” _ ; he was skeptical, but soon found it to be true.

His teacher also told him about Babel, the hidden brothel of the capital, down south in Kar. 

“You can only find it if you know where to look,” She said one night, while they sat on a windowsill of the first floor, looking out through the glass and onto the sleeping city. “And if you’re rich enough. Otherwise, you’ll have to settle for low class whores in the ragged taverns, at the outskirts of the city.” That word again.  _ Whores. _

“How is that possible?” Lihan frowned, deciding to ignore her choice of terms. “Wouldn't the guards find it?”

A giggle. Jaela shook her head. “The stories say it's protected by magic.”

“Magic?” He was incredulous. “And do you believe it?”

She shrugged, auburn blades of hair illuminated by the torches outside. “I'll believe it when I see it, but if it really is true, it has to be really powerful.” And with that, she got up from the windowsill, her linen dress falling onto her feet with a soft rustle. “You should be going to bed. You've still got a lot to learn.” Before she had the time to get up, Lihan brushed her arm, to which Jaela flinched ever so slightly. 

“One more question.” 

_ A whore who doesn’t like being touched? _

“What is it?” Jaela replied, raising her eyebrows as if nothing had happened.

“Have you ever met someone from the capital?” 

She stepped away from him. “Yes.” She had a hand on the doorknob when he spoke again.  _ One more still. _

“What are they like?”

Jaela barely peeked from above her shoulder. “Different.”

 

**_\--------_ **

 

By the time the tenth day came around, Lihan had stopped wondering why he couldn’t just leave the brothel and had finally accepted his new life. It wasn’t like he had much to go back to anyways, though sometimes, lying in bed at night, he caught his mind going back to thinking about what his existence could have been before losing his memory. He couldn’t do much about it, so he just tried to shake the thoughts off until sleep eventually came over him.

At the end of his second week at Marybel, signed by the small, wooden, abacus-like device which use Jaela had previously explained to him, seeing how he’d always walk past it with certain perplexity and curiosity, the young woman announced the end of his lessons as well. 

“I spoke to Lord Materan, today.” She said all of a sudden, interrupting the formerly silent dinner consisting in warm bean soup. Lihan looked up from his bowl, mid-swallow, and then lowered his spoon, letting it bathe into the soggy, brownish liquid. His face was a question mark.  _ And? _

“He has decided it’s time for you and the others to get to work.” She continued, seemingly only half proud. “You’re getting your first client, tomorrow.”

To that, Lihan’s brain began racing. A mixture of anxiety and excitement stirred his guts, so he started wondering:  _ who’s it going to be? _ Would he have enjoyed it as much as the lessons, where he, admittedly, got to have more fun? But this was different. This was a job: he wasn’t just messing around anymore, he had to work and he had to be good, or else they’d have probably kicked him out. And what if they kicked him out for real? Where could he have gone? What was he to do?

“Are you alright?” Jaela’s voice brought him back. He noticed he had been stirring his soup for a while now. “Lihan?” He found solace in how silky his name felt when coming out of her lips. That name, which origins he did not even know. An appellative for someone else, perhaps. Another man was probably answering to that name right in that moment, greeted by his wife after a long day of work.

He had zoned out again, and Jaela was still staring at him; her bowl was empty.

“Y-yes, I’m fine.” He quickly replied, then remembering what the girl had first said.

“Any idea on who it might be?” Lihan asked, forcing himself to hide the light, anxious tremors shaking his whole body by biting the inside of his cheek and hoping it would’ve been enough. 

Jaela smiled, and he knew it had worked. “Well,” She began “I’m not sure about that, but you all will be officially on the market first thing in the morning.” A pause.  _ Market. Objects to be bought, used for a couple of hours and then thrown away. _

The acceptance Lihan had gained for that place faltered because of one word. He could see Jaela trying to move on quickly. “You’ll stay in the main hall most of the day. I’ll be there too, serving ale and wine. Maybe you could help me. Just know that if anyone approaches you and is interested in you, you are theirs until they’re gone.”

The more she explained, the more it sounded like, from the day after, he was going to be a possession, a pretty doll to be passed around.  _ Maybe male prostitutes are less requested? _ Didn’t Jaela feel the same? How long until he’d have gotten used to it? As much as he hated his previous naivety, he knew what was coming. He had known since the first day at Marybel. 

Jaela bid him goodnight shortly after with a small smile and a light touch on his shoulder. It made him feel better for a bit, but when he finally laid in bed that night, all of the discomforts about his room he had learned to ignore along the way came back, and sleep played hard to get.

 

A nightmare woke him before Jaela’s knock could even get a chance to. In his drowsy state of mind, he couldn’t remember what it was about, but he hadn’t had a feeling of dread that heavy since when he had first woken in Tha’Kari, back in Wirme’s castle. With hesitant hands, he got dressed, careful to try and look his best.

_ It was the big day after all. _

Tangled leather sandals, thin trousers, nearly transparent linen shirt. In the small mirror on his nightstand, he looked at himself. Luckily he had shaved the night before; alone, since he had quickly learned how to do it himself, without any help. Lihan swallowed a nervous lump in his throat just as someone knocked on his door. 

“Get up, lazybones!” It was Jaela.

Usually, if Lihan had already gotten ready before breakfast, he would have replied. This time, he didn’t. He stared at the door, with the words lingering just above the tip of his tongue, but never spoke. When he finally heard Jaela’s delicate steps moving away from his door, he waited some more and finally went to get his milk and bread. 

The moment he laid eyes upon the food, though, he felt his stomach tighten and turn. He definitely wasn’t hungry, but he forced the milk down his dry throat anyways.

Walking down the hallway to the main hall, he left the loaf of bread in front of the first closed door he found, hoping to brighten someone else’s day up. 

Jaela was waiting for him at the wooden counter, just like she’d said. As she saw him, he smiled. “Good morning. How are you feeling?” 

Lihan clenched his jaw. “Not as ready as I’d hoped for.” He gazed upon the room, which was quickly filling up with other men and women. The ones who had arrived with Lihan were instructed to stand in a line with him, until Lord Materan arrived.

“Don’t worry,” Jaela whispered in her former pupil’s ear, just before pushing him gently towards the line. “I was nervous too, on my first day.” There was no time to reflect on her vaguely melancholic tone, as the brothel owner’s pale, bald head came into view, right before his huge grin. “Good morning, my darlings!” He announced, way too loud for anyone’s liking. “As you all know, this day marks your official entrance in our community, our family.”  _ Was that speech the same every time? _ “When our first client walks through that door today, I trust you will all be ready to serve them!” Lord Materan paced back and forth before the line, never losing his smile. A sly general, preparing his army of  _ whores _ . 

He then stopped in front of each one of them, just like on their first day, and asked them which role they had been assigned.

“Kitchen.” Said the first, clearly nervous woman.

The second was one of the prettiest girls in Lihan’s group. Though he hadn’t really spoken to her lately, he knew she had been assigned to one of the highest positions at Marybel: the  _ Mermaids. _ Just a fancy word for  _ fish in a bowl _ , he thought. Beautiful, naked women danced behind thick glass windows, to be seen but not touched. Clients had to pay high amounts of money to even get a finger on their perfect skin.

Lihan had found it a bit strange when he had found out there were no  _ Mermen _ . He was sure he could have been a pretty good one. In his train of thought, he had lost the rest of the line and it was now his turn. 

“Main hall.” He said, monotonous. He was pretty sure most of the others were there with him as well: only the ugliest ones were sent to the kitchen, so they’d be seen the least and they’d ‘not scare away the clients’. 

“Very well, darlings! You all remember your roles, I shall leave you, then!” Lord Materan cooed as he usually did when speaking to them. A side of him that wasn’t that terrible. “I have important business to attend in Kar and I will be back in a couple of weeks. I will be expecting crows to know how well things are going here!” Then, he laughed, and with a final sweep of his coat, he headed down the hallway to the back entrance, where his carriage was waiting for him. Jaela clapped, breaking the silence. “You heard him, ladies!” She chuckled, and everyone went in their destined direction. The redheaded girl stepped to Lihan, who was just standing next to the counter. “That was fairly quick.” She admitted, getting only a small smile from him. “Still nervous?” 

Lihan nodded. 

“There’s nothing to be afraid of.” She reassured him with a nudge to the arm. “It’s just sex.” And with that, she retreated behind the counter, readying tankards and flagons.

Seeing the young man still hadn’t moved, she leaned over. “ _ Oi! _ ” She hollered. “Move your fucking arse!” And her laugh filled the space around him, almost numbing him from his own anxiety.

That was until the door slammed open. 

The distance between Lihan’s heart and stomach increased, as he felt the first fly into his throat and the second drop down the moment he laid eyes on the first clients of the day. Of  _ his  _ day. It was a group of five, rather young men; soldiers.  _ Guards: _ their dark armors and cloaks were the same Lihan would sometimes see while looking out the windows at night or, more often than not, the same some men wore coming to the brothel at the end of a long day of roaming the city and catching thieves. Strangely enough, only one of them, the oldest one, looked sort of familiar. Had he been there before or had Lihan seen him outside? Probably the former. 

The man was one of the captains of the guards: his grey eyes scanned the room from above a wide grin, as his four subordinates did the same, looking more like hungry hyenas than soldiers loyal to the King. None of them were really that much of a sight, however, one of them caught Lihan’s attention. He was indeed looking around like the others, but there was something strange about him that separated him from the rest of his group, like a daffodil in a field of weeds. Considering the age of the four guards and the time of the morning, Lihan came to the conclusion that that group had to have just finished their nighttime duty and was now starting a new morning with a bit of fun. He glanced at the strange-looking young man as they all walked to a large table like they owned the place, sneering loudly and patting each other’s backs. 

_ Someone else’s big day.  _ Jaela tapped his shoulder. “Get behind the counter and be ready, I’ll take care of them.” He did as she said, then watching her approaching their table with her usual, sensual step. “Good morning, captain Ghabe.” She greeted the older man with a smile. “Welcome to Marybel. Can we do anything for you, today?” 

Lihan noted how different she sounded when she was speaking to clients. It was much more teasing, all smiles and winks. And it worked: the four guards were giggling like little boys. Ghabe smirked. “Hello, darling. We’ll get some ales and four of your prettiest girls.” And Lihan saw his hand lower fast onto Jaela’s rear. He instinctively gripped the edge of the counter, clenching his jaw, but the girl showed no sign of wanting to back away. Instead, she kept her smile. 

“We just got seven new girls, they’re all working here in the main hall, captain.” Jaela touched the man as well, only to ruffle his long, black hair. “Would you like to see them?”  _ Smooth. _

Captain Ghabe’s grip on her tightened lightly. “Do you guarantee they’ll be as good as you? I really need a perfect cocksucker right now, as do my boys here.” He laughed at his own lewdness, immediately followed by the others.

“I taught them myself.” Jaela chuckled too. Then, she called one of the girls who had come there with Lihan. “Cerilla, dear.” She said once the girl was standing next to her. “Are you going to take good care of these soldiers? They really need a good time after a long night spent fighting for our city.” 

Cerilla looked as terrified as all hell. “Y-yes.” Even her posture showed it. She hadn’t learned much in the past two weeks. 

“I’ll take her.” One of the younger guards said with a smirk. “I like the shy ones.” 

And they all laughed again. 

By now, Ghabe’s hand had left Jaela’s body, but Lihan was still completely alert, not able to take his eyes off the scene, not even noticing the new clients coming in. As far as he was concerned, he was fine until someone wanted a drink. He wasn’t able to fully relax, not even when three of the group left the table, each with a different girl. His eyes were still fixated onto the captain, but only then he realised the other one sitting at the table was the strange-looking young man, who kept fidgeting and shifting, looking way more nervous than any whore in there. His dark hair were stuck onto his forehead by sweat, probably caused by him keeping his helmet all night, and his blue eyes darted around, from Jaela talking to the captain, to the other clients, to the ceiling and… To Lihan. The more he glanced his way, the more he realised how much the man had been looking back at him. Their gazes even met a few times, but Lihan didn’t really know what to do without Jaela: his mind was completely empty even after all those lessons. He was only brought back to the girl when he saw her leaning forward and Ghabe whispering in her ear, while his hands slowly made their way up her torso. Then, she pulled away with a giggle.  _ Of course. _

Before he knew it, she was back to the counter. “We’ve got one.” She announced with a big smile. Lihan couldn’t help but frown. “Are you leaving me here alone?” He asked, and she shook her head, auburn hair flipping from side to side. “No,dummy:  _ we’ve  _ got one! One each! The captain chose me, as he usually does, and the other boy wants you! Ghabe had to ask me privately because he doesn’t want his mates to know and I understand. Are you ready?” 

Lihan gulped. 

“Really?” Jaela cocked her head. “You’re not scared of him, are you?” She then turned to look at the young man, who immediately lowered his gaze. “I don’t think he even knows how to use a sword, let alone his own cock. Come on!” She laughed, pulling Lihan from the counter. “His name is Kert.” And once again, she pushed him forward. 

When he got to the table, captain Ghabe was getting up from his seat to walk toward Jaela, but he stopped for a second to talk to Lihan. “Don’t be too rough on him.” He chuckled: deep, gravelly, hard like the stone street outside. A pat on his shoulder and he was gone. He might have been lewd, but he respected his subordinates. 

Lihan took a small, deep breath and then approached the young man.

“Kert, is that right?” He could now see the patchy, almost adolescent facial hair on his face. Kert looked up for a second, then nodded. 

With a glance to the counter, Lihan noticed Jaela wasn’t there to help him anymore: he had to do this alone.  _ Definitely a big day.  _ “Do you…” He began “Maybe wanna go somewhere else? Somewhere more private?” 

Kert got up quickly. “Y-yes, please.” He sounded like a scared kitten, but after Lihan noticed the young man was slightly taller than him and after looking at him from up close, he decided he wasn’t that bad looking;  _ first client. _

“Follow me.” 

Lihan led him upstairs, to one of the rooms he’d only used for lessons up until that day and that, luckily, was empty. Marybel was a big building, after all. 

He let Kert in and closed the door behind himself, then turning around to see his client rummaging through his pockets. “How much is....” He mumbled. “How much are you?” A pause. “I mean, how much money do I--” 

“Don’t worry.” Lihan approached him, forcing himself to keep calm even though he could feel cold sweat on his body. With light fingers, he traced the lines of his chestplate, running upwards to the lace of his cloak, which was soon untied, leaving the heavy fur on the ground. At least he got to do it his way, since Kert didn’t seem to have particular needs or wants. Lihan then began to tickle his neck with small butterfly kisses. “We’ll think about the gold later.” He said, noticing how quick Kert was reacting to his touch, so quick that his hands were already on Lihan’s shoulders, pushing down lightly. He knew what that meant. 

Only two words echoed in Lihan’s mind for the next hour:  _ first client. _

 

**_\--------_ **

 

Lihan left the room shortly after Kert. The young guard was still adjusting his pants when he had opened the door after leaving the amount of gold on one of the small tables in the room. Then, with a flushed face and a sheepish smile, he had said goodbye. So Lihan had picked himself up from the bed, cleaned himself as thoroughly as he could and got dressed again, grabbed the money and stepped outside. There was a certain numbness in his after sex glow: a low, background thumping of the anxiety which had previously haunted him, covered by the general well-being of the release of stress. A heavy weight had been lifted from him, and he made his way down the hallways of Marybel and to treasury: just a locked room with a guard, where they kept the money they earned during the day. He deposited and left.

When he got back downstairs, the counter was empty, but the main hall had been filling up with more people and the smell of humanity hit his nostrils more than the one of Kert’s stale sweat. Most of his  _ colleagues _ were working already, but then it dawned on him that there was no sign of Jaela. Alarmed at first, he checked again, but nothing; it was then he remembered captain Ghabe and his soldiers. Kert had already left, but where were the others? He had to check. 

Lihan ran back upstairs, not really knowing his own plan: was he going to eavesdrop on each and every closed door and see which moans resembled Jaela’s voice the most? At least to make sure she was still there and she hadn’t been kidnapped or worse? He knew he had no real reason to think that, but now that the numbness had wore off, he was on the verge of panic. Trailing the empty hallways, he could only peek into the small keyholes of some of the rooms, since the presence of keys limited his sight. 

He found her on the second floor. Well, he heard her voice. One of the last rooms at the end of the corridor. She wasn’t moaning: the sound she was uttering sounded nothing like sex, not even a particularly rough fuck. She wasn’t screaming either, or someone would have heard her: it was more like she had been gagged with something and she was currently being hit. Now in full panic and rage, Lihan looked around, found an unlit torch on the wall, pulled it out of its steel support and, finally, slammed the door open, storming in.

He was greeted by the vision of captain’s Ghabe powerful, bare backside, standing behind Jaela, who was bent over the bed. At first sight, it would’ve looked like what Lihan had imagined, but the girl was quick to get up and turn around. 

Silence.

“Lihan?”

She wasn’t hurt. 

“What’s he doing here?!” Ghabe was covering himself.

Lihan only saw Jaela running to him, pushing him out, closing the door. Her lips moved and at first he thought he hadn’t caught what she meant, but then he knew.

_ Get out. _

Before the full embarrassment of it all could strike him, he managed to put the torch back in its place, travel all the way back through the corridor and almost reach the main hall. Only then he realised. From then on, it was hard to stand behind the counter with a crimson, burning face and the crippling thought of the scene replaying in his mind over and over.

 

**_\--------_ **

 

Jaela only arrived an hour later. No sign of Ghabe.

She stopped in front of Lihan with her hands on her hips, a stern look on her face. 

_ A scolding mother. _

“Now what in the five lands were you doing back there?” She asked.

“I…” Lihan tried to come up with a believable excuse, but really, there were none. “I didn’t see you come back and I thought you were in danger.” He could feel Jaela’s green eyes on him and lowered his head in shame. 

Silence.

Then, the girl’s loud laughter made a few heads turn their way. “What, your little guard lasts less than an hour, you get too much free time on your hands and you think I’m dead?” She covered her mouth with a hand.  _ Loud, but quite feminine. _ “Oh, darling, Ghabe usually lasts way more than that! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you wait, but you don’t have to worry about me like this! I know the captain, I trust him, he would never hurt me…” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Nothing more than a few spanks.” Seeing Lihan’s flushed face, she slapped his arm gently. “I’m sorry! You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, but really, I’m quite alright. Are you?”

Lihan slowly nodded, a smile creeping onto his lips. It was pretty absurd after all. 

“How did it go?” Jaela shifted the subject. “Did you have fun?”

“He…” The young man started “He wanted to do a lot of things.” No, another word. “To  _ try _ a lot of things. And he lasted way more than I expected him to.” 

Jaela squealed in delight. “Goddess, I can’t wait for you to tell me everything! We’ll talk at supper, alright? We have to get to work now, the hall’s filling up!” And with that, she was off. Off to some other man who would hit her  _ for pleasure _ . 

Lihan made sure to follow her movements from then on, checking every person she’d talk to and judging whether they could’ve hurt her or not. 

His first day was slow, after that.

 

**_\--------_ **

 

During the next few days, Lihan found himself being more and more requested. Apparently, shy and quiet Kert hadn’t been able to keep his own secrets, but Lihan wasn’t that bothered by it; more clients meant more money, after all. Besides, the more time passed, the more he got used to the schedule and, most of all, to the part of the job that actually required physical energy. 

Every passing day was a new occasion to learn something new: first, one of the girls from the kitchen -Shala. Shaggy brown hair and slightly crooked teeth. Lovely, common, a farmer’s daughter- taught him how to cook a meat pie which, as she said, would  _ make them cream their pants _ . Lihan tried said dish and had to agree with her. Then, one particularly boring night in the main hall, when sleep just wouldn’t come, a man named Merciel -Tall and lean, dark hair and eyes, the tanned skin colour Lihan had learned to associate to the few Welosi who came to Marybel- showed him a curious game he introduced as Jumping Nuts. Surprisingly, it included no actual jumping at all, just a quick wrist and good coordination. 

“So, we’re gonna use these,” Merciel said in his people’s accent, a slightly rolled  _ R _ , a light lisp on his  _ S,  _ while fishing something out of his left pocket and placing it on the table: five small, beige nuts. “But you can also play with stones, or peach kernels.”

Then, the man proceeded to explain how, to play the game, they had to throw one of the nuts into the air above their hand and, while it was still mid-air, quickly pick up another one, to then flip their hand again and catch the now falling one. This had to continue until they were holding all five of the nuts and then restarting by picking up two instead of one, or even throwing two and picking up one. 

“There are a lot of combinations to this game.” Merciel explained, thick eyebrows wagging as he spoke. “But we’re gonna start slow, not many people are good at this.”

It took him a few tries, but he was a quick learner, and at the end of the night Lihan had the most points.

 

Idling himself back to his room later, he felt the weariness of staying up so late creeping up his back, along with the unpleasant start of a cold which was to be expected, walking around half dressed in a mostly cold building. Long story short, he was basically sleeping on his feet; the way up the stairs felt like a two miles run and, when he finally got to the wooden landing, he yawned. 

Just a couple more hallways and he’d been in bed. He didn’t even have to shave, he could’ve done it first thing in the morning. He just… Needed… To sleep…

_ SLAM! _

The storm outside had probably knocked a nearby brazier over, spilling all the coal and ash over the stone pavement. Lihan wasn’t thinking about that though, nor was he thinking about the poor guards like Kert, patrolling the streets on that dismal night.

No, his attention was directed a very much lit flame much nearer to him; in fact, the loud noise outside had startled him so much, he had accidentally tripped and tumbled over a torch holding sconce. In his immediate state of panic, he was frantically trying to extinguish the fire which had already consumed half of his shirt sleeve, using his free hand to roughly smack his own arm. He hadn’t even noticed he was screaming. 

_ “Lihan!”  _ Jaela’s familiar voice only reached him when she was already in front of him. Next thing he felt was freezing cold water poured right over his burning arm. 

Then, it was over. Lihan was holding his arm ahead of him, finding it strangely colder than he’d thought at the touch and staring at the girl with eyes wide open.

“I...” He murmured, still in shock.

Jaela’s eyes were fixated on his arm, yet she was the first one to shake it off. “Come with me.” Careful to grab his other hand, she lead him to her own room, which wasn’t that far and wasn’t that much different from Lihan’s: just a bit larger. But he wasn’t worrying about that: as she made him sit down on a much more comfortable bed than his, the young man was afraid of even brushing the skin of his left arm. 

“How did you do that?” Jaela asked quickly, worried. 

Lihan blinked. “Do what?!” 

“Your arm, Lihan!”

“I fell on a torch! I… Think.”

“Not that!” She had raised her tone.

“Then what?!”

The girl’s hand rapidly gripped the arm he was too scared to look at. “This!”

And for the first time since he’d been out of panic, Lihan looked at his skin: it was smooth, shaven, pink, soft.

_ That’s not it. _

It was completely untouched. Unscathed by the flames that should have inflicted fairly severe burns. “What…” He whispered once again.

Jaela gulped. “That’s not all.” Seeing Lihan’s puzzled look, she flipped his arm around, so that they were both facing the back of his forearm. It wasn’t easy to miss: a fair coloured, almost iridescent scale-like scab right in the middle of his otherwise perfect skin. “Lihan, what is that?” Jaela pressured.

“I don’t know…” He stuttered. “Does it look like I know?!”

“I’ll tell you what it  _ looks _ like! Magic! Magic, Lihan!” She sounded more scared now. Terrified, actually. 

Lihan frowned. “Magic?! I’m not magic!” 

“It sure looks like you are!” For some reason, she had lowered her voice, as if she didn’t want to be heard. “Fuck, Lihan, don’t you know anything about Tha’Kari?”

“Maybe I would, if you just told me and stopped talking in circles!” He snapped, unconsciously talking lower as well. 

She knew he was right. The girl sat down next to him, fixed the rebel locks of auburn hair which had fallen onto her face before by putting them behind her ears, and took a deep breath. “Magic is prohibited here. By decree from King Frey Reinar centuries ago, after the Church of the Sun attacked. They were monks, primarily using fire magic. Anyone who’s caught using any kind of magic powers is immediately executed.” She told the tale sadly, and Lihan noticed she was sitting rather far from him, as if she’d been scared of him. Then it hit him.

“Are you gonna tell the guards?” He murmured, his right thumb gently running onto the scale on his arm, discovering it to be quite hard at the touch, almost like rock.

It took Jaela a few seconds to answer, but she finally shook her head. “No, I won’t. I will not let them take another one.” 

“There have been more--” He paused “--magicals, here at Marybel?”

The girl nodded. “People are brought here from anywhere in Narthe. Only the ones with more discreet powers get here alive. I take it as my duty to protect them for as long as I can.”

“Does Lord Materan know about this?” 

She shook her head again. “I do it all by myself. That’s why I teach the new recruits, that’s why I always serve captain Ghabe. I need to have both the magicals and the guards in my sights, so I can do my job better.”

_ She accepted to be beaten by a man to protect people. People like Lihan. _

“Thank you, for all your service.” He said fondly, from the heart. 

Jaela only half-smiled. “Don’t thank me.” She looked at him once again and her expression shifted, her left eyebrow cocking lightly. 

“You should probably get a new shirt.” 

That’s when Lihan noticed how the flames had burnt the linen of his top up his whole arm, taking a generous section of his front and back as well, leaving the two flaps free to fall and fold at about the height of his stomach. He nodded. “Yeah.”

Their eyes met one last time before he’d gotten up and Lihan swore to whatever god or goddess existed that he was dying to kiss Jaela right there and then, but before he could do or say anything, she was quicker. 

“Cover your arm until you get to your room. If it’s not gone in the morning, fake a cut of some sort and come looking for me before I do my rounds. Now go.”

And with that, he was pushed out of the room.

 

**_((To be continued.))_ **


	3. 8x03 - The House of Black and White

**_The House Of Black And White_ **

 

 When Lihan woke up the next morning, the first thing he did was checking his left arm, not even one bit drowsy as he inspected every inch of his own skin, surprised to not find any sign of the iridescent scale which had still been there the night before when he had slipped into bed, irrationally worried out of his mind that someone might have walked in and saw it as he slept and called the guards on him. 

With a sigh of relief, he got up just as he heard Jaela’s knock on the door. He rapidly wore his pants and ran to open, seeing her almost on her way already. 

Yet, when she noticed him opening the door, she just as quickly walked back to him.

“I didn’t see you earlier, is it gone?” She asked, visibly still worried.

Lihan nodded, extending his arm to her as proof. “Maybe the fire is the reason why it appeared in the first place?”

The redhead pressed her lips together. 

“Yeah, I’m not sure about it either.”

Jaela lifted a hand. “Let’s just go on with our day. We probably don’t have to worry about this. Well, unless somebody sets you on fire, right?”

“Right.”

 

 

Later that day, Lihan stood behind the main hall counter as usual, trying his best to keep his mind off the previous night, pouring ale and wine and spirits to the most courageous of men and women who could down hard drinks at all hours of the daytime. He had only had a couple of quick clients before midday, two women who didn’t want much from him, just a way to relieve the stress caused by unloving husbands. It wasn’t but a couple of hours before dinner time that things took some sort of a turn: Lihan had lost sight of Jaela from his position all the way behind the counter, but she wasn’t that far. In fact, she had just turned the corner into the back entrance hallway. The girl had been told one of their  _ special clients _ had arrived. 

Jaela hoped as hard as she could, clinging on the supposition that their guest wasn’t going to be who the rumors she’d heard spoke about, even going as far as crossing her fingers nervously all the way to the backdoor, wishing the trip lasted way more, each feathery, linen accompanied step paradoxically weighing more than the last.

But when she finally got to meet the client, her heart dropped. Standing tall and wide in front of her, clad in the dark grey armor decorated with small steel thorns poking outwards she had learned to associate with the King’s Elite Guard, was a… Woman? She had no helmet on, showing a shaved, dark skinned head which could have been that of the Surm people, but something about her facial features didn’t resonate with the description: her bone structure was different, perhaps suggesting she was born of parents of different races. Jaela shook off the thought when she realised how the woman’s dark brown eyes seemed to burn right through her frame, as if they were looking for something, scanning her entire body for some sort of clue. Forcefully glancing away from those pits of almost pitch black, Jaela noticed she was accompanied by two men, dressed the same way, face hidden by the notorious lion-like features of their helms. They said nothing; on the contrary, their captain’s voice roared in the small place. 

“I don’t understand this secrecy at all. Lord Materan had been warned of our visit, is he not here?” She asked sharply. “We should be walking in through the main door.”

Jaela was taken by surprise. She muttered an excuse, explaining how Materan had been away for more than a week due to important business. “He was headed to Kar, milady, it might be you haven’t run into each other.” 

“I wasn’t in Kar.” The woman continued in the same tone, not even hinting at an apology. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I take it you’re the one running the place in his absence. Take me to the other whores.” 

“May I ask your name, milady?” Jaela stuttered, her hands on her chest.

The woman laughed out loud. “I thought my reputation preceded me! You can write Darvein Thirt in your register.” Her attitude changed in a split second. “Now take me to the other whores, you dumb bitch!” 

Jaela immediately nodded quickly, gasping when she yelled. Then, she turned around to lead her towards the main hall and, as she did so, she could feel her eyes glued on her, glaring at her in the same way she had done before. But now, her hope was gone. She knew the woman, she had heard of her, her reputation actually did precede her: Darvein Thirt, captain of the King’s Lions and first in hunting magicals all over Tha’Kari. She had heard of the terrible things she did to them, torturing them until they were just a bloody mess begging for their lives and only then taking them to the capital to be executed. What she didn’t know was that the infamous captain Thirt was actually a woman: she had always naively thought only a man would have been capable of those awful, awful things. To add to the list of information Jaela lacked, was also the fact that she didn’t know if the so-called merciful king Reinar was aware of the atrocities perpetrated by his most loyal soldiers, if he just allowed it to happen. 

When her eyes met the sight of Lihan standing behind the counter, she hoped he’d see the message trapped in them, unable to escape her lips.

_ Run. _

Or, at least, that’s what she’d have liked to say, taking the young man’s hand and escaping with him; but she also knew it wouldn’t have done them any good. Instead, she had to stay calm. She had done this before, she just had to get the woman drunk fast enough so that she would have been incapacitated soon. And, most of all, Lihan had to know nothing.

“May I offer you a glass of our finest wine, milad-” 

“Shush, whore. I’m not here to drink.” She was abruptly cut off. Thirt walked to the center of the main hall slowly, followed by the other two men. Then, she stopped. Slowly turning around, she scanned the whole room. Jaela could only watch, Lihan had a cocked eyebrow, puzzled eyes looking back at the strange woman he didn’t know, glancing at the armor he didn’t recognise. 

The redheaded girl took a brief sigh of relief when she saw the three soldiers coming back, but her nervous joy lasted nothing: Darvein had a smirk on her face.

“I would like to spend a couple of hours with one of you whores.” She announced.

Jaela’s heart skipped a beat, as she remembered something about the rumors she’d heard of Thirt: one small detail which could have saved Lihan from her grasp. 

One of the reasons Jaela had initially thought the soldier of the king was a man was the constant stories she’d come to know about; how many female magicals were uncovered -both literally and metaphorically- during intercourse, how many women would tell the tale of the best night of their lives spent with captain Darvein Thirt. Good, if she could’ve just strayed her attention onto one of the girls, Lihan would’ve been safe, and even though it meant whoever Thirt was going to choose was going to be tortured and possibly violated, she had dealt with that before; rough clients weren’t unusual, they would’ve come out relatively well from it. 

“Of course, milady.” She tried her best to be accommodating. “May I introduce you to our finest girls?” She even bowed a little, extending an arm to point the way.

Silence. “Actually, I would like to try something different, today.” Thirt finally replied and, even though Jaela was still looking at the floor, she could  _ hear _ the grin in her voice. “Don’t get me wrong, I love holding a good pair of tits, but… I feel like switching up.” The more she talked, the weaker Jaela felt, yet she forced herself to stand up back straight. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, milady.”

She chuckled. “ _ I’m _ sure you do. I’ll take that boy at the counter. I’m also sure you’ll find a good replacement while he’s away, something tells me you’re good at  _ serving. _ ”

Jaela had to call on every bit of strength she had in her body not to scream. 

“Oh, but--” She tried. “He’s not--” 

“ _ I said, _ ” The woman was irremovable. “I want that boy. I guarantee we’ll find something to do with him. Merg, Bhur, go get him.” 

To that, the two men with her moved away, heading towards the counter. Jaela watched in horror and impotence as they literally pulled Lihan out of his position and almost dragged him towards Thirt, though not stopping there and carrying on, going for the stairs, presumably looking for a room. 

“Well, if you excuse me, I have a couple of hours of fun ahead of me.”

Even though the two men and Lihan had been gone for a few seconds now, the girl could still see his helpless and confused face as they passed by. She had only whispered two words: “ _ I’m sorry.” _

 

Saying Lihan was confused when he had first been grabbed and abducted by the two soldiers would have been a huge understatement. He had tried to wiggle out of their grasp somehow, but an iron-like strength had kept him in place, and he had soon enough understood who he was dealing -or better, about to deal- with. Although he didn’t know what to expect, he tried to convince himself that it was normal, just another abuse of power from the King’s men; something like that happened, right? And yet, the stronger his attempts at calming down got, the more Jaela’s distraught eyes popped back into his mind, each time more vivid than the previous one. He swallowed a thick lump in his throat when they got to the first floor of Marybel and his heart skipped a whole beat and a half when he was abruptly shoved into an empty, rather warm room; wood crackled into the lit fireplace, an opium pipe had been used recently and its smell mixed with that of the flames, the bed was nicely done, looking as soft as all the others.  

Lihan’s knees hit the wooden floor before his hands did, hurting bad enough to make him think he’d get bruises the next morning.

_ If there was going to be a next morning. _

In an attempt at balancing his fall, he slid and tumbled onto his shoulder, grimacing as he fell even lower than before. That was when Thirt walked into the room, hands on the heavy looking leather belt around her waist. The young man on the ground quickly but goofily managed to get back up on his feet, glaring at the soldier with his blue eyes. 

“That attitude won’t take you anywhere.” Darvein chuckled, her hands running to the knot of her fur cape and undoing it, eventually leaving the burden to one of her men. 

Lihan knew she was right. A rough client was still a client. “What can I do for you,  _ milady?” _ he had to push the last word out of himself forcefully.

Another low, gruff chuckle. “Take off your clothes.”

He knew better than to refuse, so he obliged, slowly. Thirt seemed like a woman who explicitly said what she wanted, but she had left no instruction on how to do it, so he assumed the soldier wanted him to get nude seductively, like most people desired him to.

“Come on, you idiot, I haven’t got all day.” 

_ Quickly it was, then. _

As the last of the few pieces of clothing Lihan had on fell to the floor, he stood back up straight, staring right ahead and trying to fight the urge to cover himself. He didn’t know why he had it, he should have been used to similar scenarios by now, and yet something about the woman he had in front of himself and about the context he was in scared him back to the person he was just a few weeks before: naked and afraid.

To his surprise, Darvein Thirt didn’t approach him, nor did she ask for him to. What she said instead surprised him even more.

“He looks sturdy enough to be a soldier, doesn’t he, boys?” Thirt asked the duo at the door. They just nodded, their lion-faced helmets moving along.

“Maybe, if he turns out to be…  _ Fit _ , we could take him with us.” Only then she stepped forward and got closer to Lihan, seemingly inspecting his whole, bare skin. 

“Shall I get on the bed, milad-” He tried to ask.

The slap got him before he could finish the sentence. The leather glove had certainly left a five-finger mark on his cheek, and the surprising strength would have been enough to knock him down on the ground again, but he managed to only dive sideways a bit, holding his burning flesh with one free hand. As he got back up, he stared at the woman with eyes wide open. 

“I’m not here to fuck, you dumb shit.” Darius proclaimed in a low, irritated voice.

Why was she there, then? Lihan’s mind couldn’t wrap around it, but he wasn’t left with much time to think: Thirt’s next order came quick and it came strong.

“Turn around.”

Forcing himself to swallow the good old lump he’d had in his throat for the last few minutes, Lihan obliged once again, spinning slowly on his heels to face the soft bed and pillows and the wooden bed frame against the wall. It was only then that he realised a sword could’ve pierced his stomach right about then and he wouldn’t have seen it coming. Irrationally, he began clenching every muscle in his body, waiting for the pain to break his body.

Instead, he felt the cold touch of a leather glove on his back.

“Interesting picture.” Thirt commented, tracing the black line of the dragon. “What does it mean?” Her finger was running along one of the necks. “Why two heads?”

Lihan felt the compelling urge to blatantly lie. “It’s my family’s crest.” The words came so naturally out of his mouth that for a split-second he believed his own falsehood.

“Mh.” Thirt didn’t sound so convinced, but she didn’t ply forward, so Lihan treated himself to a small sigh of relief, though he still wanted to know something.

“I beg your pardon, milady, but I do not understand the meaning of my presence here.” The young man had to muster up all of his courage to even just  _ think _ of saying that sentence out loud. 

The woman’s answer was a small chuckle. Bad sign.

“You see, boy, I have reasons to believe you’re hiding something from me.” Her hand was still playing around on his tattoo. 

Lihan blinked, his gaze fixated on one of the pillows on the bed. “I don’t think I know what you’re talking about, milady.” He replied.

A scoff. “I think you do.”

The pain hit Lihan before the air from his next breath reached his lungs. It felt cold, piercing, sharp. It felt… Like a dagger. His tender, smooth skin had been cut open at the height of his pelvis, just next to where the tail of the two headed dragon met his spine for the final time. The cut wasn’t deep, but he soon felt warm blood pouring out of it and running down his flesh like a small river. His first instinct had been that of screaming, but for some reason his voice hadn’t come out, leaving his head tilted backwards as the suddenness of it all had shocked him. The hand on his back had kept him from overthinking his death by sword, and he stupidly wasn’t expecting a smaller blade. As he stumbled forward and held himself up by leaning onto the bed clumsily, he heard a grunt coming from the woman behind him.

“No regenerative magic… Yet.” A second cut. No, not a cut, a thrust. This time, the debatable short length of the blade sunk quite deep into his right thigh, which had been made more reachable by his changing of positions. This time, he actually screamed. 

Darvein Thirt sighed in frustration. “Looks like that’s not it.” Lihan heard her shifting on her feet, probably looking around the room. She suddenly stopped, looking back at the fireplace at the opposite side of the room. 

“You see, I know every family crest in Tha’Kari, and that’s not one of them. So what is it?” With quick steps, she approached the roaring flame and immediately found what she was looking for. Lihan only heard the rustling and crackling of burning wood, followed by the sound of a long piece of metal being pulled out of its molten location and only then realised what was coming next. 

_ We don’t have to worry about this….. Unless somebody sets you on fire. _

Lihan felt weaker than he’d ever felt before. Darvein Thirt was clearly scouting the five lands for magicals to trap and execute. She had tried to cut him to see if magic would’ve healed him. Now, she was going to burn him alive to see if he’d have survived and, given what had happened just the night before, Lihan was risking his life. He couldn’t even escape, as his leg hurt way too much. Thirt had probably damaged something important; smart move. He heard her steps behind him as if the whole world had been slowed down to the steady beating of his own heart. 

Thirt was behind him. He closed his eyes.

The woman lifted the burning fire poker. Lihan thought about Jaela.

This was it, this was how it ended. Lihan would’ve never gotten to know who he really was, nor he would’ve gotten to live a quiet life without worries. 

Apparently, he didn’t deserve that.

He braced himself one last time.

That’s when the door abruptly opened. Lihan didn’t see who had come in, but the voice was familiar and the synapses in his brain connected it to a face quickly enough for hope to kick in his system. 

“Captain Thirt!” Lord Materan’s joyful coo filled the room.

The woman turned around, puzzled. “Materan? I thought you were in Kar.” 

“My client canceled our business while I was mid-trip. How rude! So I came back and what do you know, such a fantastic surprise! Oh, I’m sure you have lots to tell me! Come, let’s catch up with some fine wine!” The short man clapped his hands and the sound reverberated in Lihan’s now aching head. 

“Actually, I’m kind of busy.” Thirt said through gritted teeth, lifting the fire poker of a couple of inches. 

“Of course, of course, I know, your work is spectacularly important, but I don’t think that boy is going anywhere but the sanatorium, so he’ll probably be ready to… Play again, once we’re done talking.” Materan laughed. “Come on, I won’t take no for an answer!” 

Lihan heard the woman captain scoff lightly, then turning around to put the iron back in its place. As she walked toward him, she hissed: “I’m not done with you.” 

Lihan felt pressure to his deeper wound and the next thing he knew was utter darkness.

 

**_\--------_ **

 

The dreams Lihan had while unconscious weren’t exactly the type of thing he’d be able to talk about the next morning, them being extremely confusing and bleeding one into the other like different shades of paint mixing together on a painter’s palette. Wherein one moment he was somewhere lying down in complete silence, soon enough the sound of tapping rain and hushed voices had trickled down into his psyche, but that was only the beginning. Then, he was running. Where to, he didn’t know. His legs hurt, but he ignored the reason. When he looked down at them, they weren’t there and he wasn’t touching the ground. Flying? More like hovering. 

He was afraid.

He had the feeling of hundreds of invisible hands rushing him, pinning him down, but he was reaching for something else, for something that could give him solace. He caught a glimpse of branches holding shining, silver leaves; he felt like he was falling from them, down into a thicket of tall, burning-red grass. As he touched it, it turned into long, auburn hair and then there was nothing more. He was surrounded by darkness and silence again, until his ears were flooded with the strength of a powerful, blasting, earth-shattering roar.

He screamed as loud as he could, hoping to somehow drown out the sound. Only then he realised how the beastly cry had turned into a gentle, soft-spoken woman’s voice.

“Lihan?” 

To his name, his eyes responded by fluttering open. He was staring up at the ceiling of the sanatorium, a room he didn’t often frequent, but that he knew of enough to recognize its tall and broad layout, the beds all around him and the wooden beams holding up the ceiling. Then, he felt the numerous beads of sweat coating his mostly bare skin, probably due to the nightmares and… The wounds. Lihan remembered quickly. 

“Lihan, are you alright?” Jaela called out again. Lihan wondered just how many times she’d asked that ever since they’d first met. He tried to sit up, finding it easier than he’d expected. Clean bandages were around both his thigh and his abdomen, and luckily the cut on his back didn’t hurt that much. 

“Hey,” He finally replied, smiling a little. 

“You got me worried,” The girl admitted. 

“Thought you couldn’t hear me or something.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“Anyways,” She kept on “We need to get you out of here before Thirt comes back for you.” To  Lihan’s surprise, she lifted the linen sheet that was covering his right thigh. She seemed to eye the bandage carefully, before beginning to unwrap it gently. 

“Does it need changing?” Lihan asked, puzzled, trying to take his mind off the closeness of the girl. 

“No,” She didn’t seem to care as much. “You won’t need it anymore.”

He frowned. “I don’t think my wound’s healed already, is it?” 

To that, Jaela let out a frustrated sigh. “Goddess, you’re thick sometimes. I’m going to heal you, you cretin.” It might have been because of his still confused state of mind, but Lihan really couldn’t connect the pieces. “How?”

Jaela glared at him, before laying a hand at about an inch above the cut. Soon enough, bright, milky-white light emanated from it, extending towards Lihan’s leg in ethereal tendrils which seemed to caress his skin with their cool touch. The young man felt refreshed somehow, as Jaela worked-- well, her magic. 

“You’re a magical too?” He asked in a hushed tone.

She just nodded, finally taking her hand away. All that was left of the wound was a pinkish, two inch long scar. “I’m afraid that’s gonna stay. I’m sorry.” She said, sort of coldly. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“You didn’t need to know.  _ No one _ ever needs to know. I just protect the others for as long as I can and I’m pretty damn good at keeping secrets. I do my part and everyone’s happy, most of the time.”

“How did you keep it hidden, though? You must’ve gotten more than a client who wished to do… Well…” Lihan looked at his newly formed scar. “Something like this.”

Jaela turned silent, even more than before. She turned her head away with a flow of ginger hair. 

“Jaela?” Lihan was almost sure he’d hit close to home. He reached out, softly brushing her bare shoulder. She shuddered.

“Remember what I did the first time we met?”

Lihan didn’t have to think about it much. “You shaved me.”

“Remember why I did that? Do you remember what I told you?”

Jaela’s words came back to his mind just as quickly as they had first hit him: quick and sharp.

“No one wants to fuck a hairy whore.”

She nodded, finally turning back to him. “Well,” Lihan watched as her hand lifted from her lap and slowly ran across her puffed up, reddened face. A low, white glimmer illuminated her features for a moment, but when her hand was down again, her beautiful visage had been replaced by an awful mask of burnt, charred and scarred skin, from her inner left eye all the way to a completely missing right ear. Jaela’s right eye stared up at Lihan from behind two almost completely closed and dry eyelids, while the other one cried silent tears. The scar almost reached half of her luscious upper lip, miraculously leaving it untouched. When she parted her lips to talk, Lihan noticed she was also missing a couple of teeth.

“No one wants to fuck a scarred whore either.”

He didn’t look away. He felt like he couldn’t, out of respect, out of… Love, perhaps.

He could just part his lips, trying to find the right words. 

“Who did this to you?” Was the only thing he could ask.

Strangely, she was the one to look away, as if she felt ashamed not by her appearance, but her story.

“It happened years ago.” She began, wiping her tears with an edge of her fluttery dress. “A man from Kar came to Marybel. He… I don’t really know who he was, and I didn’t really care at the time. He was paying, so I couldn’t complain, and he wasn’t the talkative type, so I didn’t ask. He’d come by every week, every time he’d ask for a different girl and every time I’d spend the night healing bruises and begging for the girls’ silence. Nothing too original, it had happened before, I was used to it.” She took a deep breath. Here came the difficult part. “Then, one week, he asked for me. I knew what he wanted and I was a little scared, but he paid extra money so I just grew a pair and braced myself to a faked orgasm and a sleepless night. Not a big deal, really. What I didn’t know was…” She paused, stifling a soft sob that Lihan heard anyways, his heart breaking instantly. “I had never… I’d never asked the girl if he’d hit them during sex, I had always been too busy healing their wounds and they had always been too shaken to talk so… I didn’t know…” She closed her sane eye, took another deep breath and clutched the sheet on the bed. She was still knelt on the floor. “He wasn’t paying for sex. He had never come to our brothel for sex. He was one of those  _ pigs _ \--” she spat out the word with disgust “--who get their kicks out of hitting women, torturing them. And I was the next on his list. The first time he actually went pretty easy on me, just a few punches and kicks, just a couple bruises. I healed them off that night and kept on with my life. But then he came back the week after and he asked for me again.” She scoffed. “Apparently he liked the way my skin sounded when hit by his fists. And so he paid more again, he got me again and he beat me again. This went on for a few weeks.” Lihan fought the urge to scream as he knew the end of that sad tale was coming fast. “Until he started noticing how the bruises magically weren’t there anymore just a week after his last visit.” The young man wanted to ask if he was a magical hunter like Thirt, but Jaela seemed to read his mind. “It wasn’t a hate thing, he cared not for magicals or humans, but he was smart enough to notice the change and the idea of his… Trace disappearing from his victims… He didn’t enjoy the fact that the women he’d beat didn’t carry around his marks. So he made sure I got something I couldn’t hide.” Another pause. She pointed at her face. “And this is the result.” 

“How… How did you hide your magic from everyone else, after that?” Lihan asked carefully, not wanting her to delve deeper into her memories just for the sake of his curiosity.

“I sat in the room he had done it in until I was at least healed. Then, I used all the strength I had left to conceal everything. Only then was I able to bring myself to walk out.” 

“And did he come back? The week after?” At this point, Lihan was scared of the answer, but Jaela’s voice was sharp and cold.

“He did not live long enough.”

“I’m… Sorry.” 

“Don’t be. You didn’t do this.” The girl ran her hand on her face again and her beautiful disguise was back in a flash. 

They sat in silence for a while, Lihan not really knowing what to say, until she started the conversation again.

“As I said before, you have to leave. As a matter of fact, you need to be gone before dawn. Thirt said she’ll bring you back to Kar, where she can continue her… Whatever she was doing back there.”

Lihan was perplexed. “Why bringing a common whore back to the capital? She doesn’t even know if I’m a magical or not.”

“She is pretty sure of it. She kept saying it, earlier.”

“Wait, you spoke to her?”

“Well, she spoke to me, but I wasn’t really myself.” Jaela rapidly got up with a small smile. “My magic isn’t only good to hide scars.” As she repeated the gesture she’d done before, a bigger flash of light surrounded her, and the next thing Lihan knew was that she was gone, Lord Materan standing in her place.

“W-what?! It was you?!”

Materan-Jaela chuckled. Then, in a perfect imitation of the man’s voice, she replied: “The real Lord Materan isn’t back yet, so I had to think of something quickly, before that bitch set you on fire!” Jaela turned back to her original self and smiled a little more. She stepped to the bed and sat on it, turning to Lihan. “We can only hope he’ll be on his way back when Thirt gets to Kar, otherwise it’ll be hard to explain.”

Lihan had been staring at her in awe. “How long until dawn?” He asked, surprising her. The young woman arched an eyebrow, then looked outside the window. 

“Five hours, more or less. Why?” 

Lihan sat up, reaching up to cup Jaela’s otherwise scarred cheek, caressing her skin with his thumb. “I was wondering how much time I had left with you.” He smiled lightly.

“To do this.” Then, he kissed her.

Jaela seemed hesitant at first, turning stiff in his touch as if she’d have liked to say something more, to explain how they had instead no time at all, that the sun was going to set soon and he had to prepare to leave. And yet, she remained silent, her quiet enforced by the man’s lips on hers, locking her -and him- away from any capability of speech. As their mouths met for the first time, both of them felt brand new. Every touch, every breath, every single moment was different than the ones simulated with their clients during their days at Marybel. No, those moments with each other were real, genuine, true. As Jaela positioned herself onto Lihan’s lap slowly, she wondered whether to remove the disguise once more, giving herself to him completely, showing once and for all to him and to the old gods and the new that she was beautiful, that her scars didn’t make her a monster, that she was going to overcome what had happened so many years ago, that she wasn’t going to care anymore. She didn’t have to show a fake beauty to him, he wasn’t a client; he was just  _ Lihan. _ And she loved him enough to do it, so she proceeded to nullify the magic. No question asked, no cares given. This was her, no matter what he thought. 

Lihan didn’t seem to mind.

 

**_\--------_ **

 

It was still dark when Lihan got up from the sanatorium bed he had shared with Jaela, noticing actively for the first time just how good her magic was. His leg didn’t hurt at all: not when he leaned on it while walking, nor when he brushed the bas-relief of the fuchsia scar while wearing the trousers someone had left next to his bed when he had been taken there. At least, that’s what he guessed. He got dressed and glanced at Jaela for what he knew was the last time. She laid on her back, facing away from him, her ginger hair covering the right side of her face. Lihan hoped she’d wake up in time to get her magic to work, before somebody saw her and her life could be ruined. He’d have woken her up himself, but he didn’t have the heart to. He couldn’t bear the thought of their last goodbye being any different than that night. 

He could’ve asked her to run away with him, but he didn’t even know where to go himself, how could he drag her into such a situation, they could’ve both died. 

No, he had to leave alone. Lihan began walking towards the door out with fast and nimble steps, careful not to make too much noise. For a moment, he looked at himself from the outside and commented on how he looked like a cheating husband leaving his mistress’s bedchamber in the morning. Except it was completely different and he was being an idiot. But now the door was so close, he just had to sneak out through the back door and into the cold, wild, unknown world out there.  _ Well. _

His hand was on the knob.  _ It’s either uncertain death or certain death. _ He turned it.

Uncertainty was always better in that case, right?

“Going somewhere?” Darvein Thirt’s face -and voice- appeared right ahead of him, right outside the door, along with her two men. This opened two alternatives: either they were patiently waiting for him or they were already coming to get him. 

Dawn wasn’t that far, then.

Before Lihan could try and run in the opposite direction, Merg and Bhur were on him, gripping him like they had done just a few hours before, dragging him through the corridor towards the door he had planned on escaping out of.

“You seem to be recovering fast, boy.” Thirt observed, with a sharp smile in her tone. “I’m going to have to check for regenerative magic again.” 

Though knowing what was about to happen, Lihan preferred to play dumb, instead of telling them what he knew and risking to blow Jaela’s cover. 

“Where are you taking me?” He fake-frowned as he gave up struggling for freedom. If he wanted a chance to escape, he’d have to wait a bit longer. 

“Though I should tell you to mind your goddess-damned business,” The woman started as they got closer and closer to a large, black, wooden carriage driven by two strong looking horses. “I think it’ll be fun to watch you wait for your end.” Lihan spotted the grey lion ensign on the side of the wooden cage he’d probably was going to be living in for weeks, then the two burly men in armor opened the back of the carriage. As he was abruptly thrown in, captain Thirt remained on the outside.

“We’re going to Kar.” She grinned. “We’re gonna have fun, together.”

Then, Merg and Bhur got into the carriage and sat on each side of it, right next to the doors, slamming them shut immediately after.

 

**_\--------_ **

 

The journey to Kar had been just as boring and utterly excruciating as Lihan would’ve expected. He had been forced to stay into the carriage for weeks on end, being only allowed to step outside to take a piss every once in an eternity. Each time he did that, he had little time and every time he had to wait for his eyes to adjust to the sudden change of light, as the outside was always much brighter than the inside. 

Along the road though, the immense quantity of free time he had had abled him to notice a few things he hadn’t had the chance to previously. 

Number one: the carriage was big enough to hold at least ten people, why was he the only one? Number two: Merg and Bhur only got out when he did, as his own personal guards; they did not eat, drink, sleep nor piss, while he was given a dry piece of bread and a cup of water each day. Lihan had not seen Thirt for the entirety of the journey. Number three: each time he was taken outside -by force-, the landscape always looked the same, bare wastelands of snow and tall trees surrounding the not-so-large beaten path they were travelling on. This was until one day, while shaking from the cold and fearing he’d lose a limb or two, Lihan was brought out into a much colder and piercing brackish air which filled his nostrils immediately. He then knew they were near the coast. Yet he did not get to see the docks, as one night, probably while he slept, the carriage was lifted onto a ship that immediately left the coast, leaving him with no chance of escaping for another week or so. He only realised they were at sea when he was brought out the day after, finding himself into the bulk of the ship, more wooden walls surrounding him. He felt sick, that time.

The nightmares had occasionally tormented him, as if even they didn’t want to join him on his trip towards certain death, but each time they were almost the same. Each time he’d see the silver trees and flaming grass, each time he’d hear the roar and then he’d just wake up into the darkness of the carriage. 

But he had soon learned to stop minding the dreams and their meaning, as his life -or what remained of it- had almost turned into a dream itself, a cycle of days shrouded in complete darkness and focused on waiting for the end. 

Until one day it was over.

He was brought out once more, but he wasn’t on a ship anymore. He was standing on a stone paved street - _ sweet, sweet, still land! _ -, bathed in warm sunlight, surrounded by lively sounds of people walking and running and buying and selling and  _ living _ . Lihan squinted as he adjusted to another unfamiliar yet inviting environment, and then it finally dawned on him that they had reached their destination: they were in Kar. The road he was standing on while looking like a dirty guttersnipe must had been the main street, because in front of him, tall as a tower and strong with steel, was the biggest gate he’d ever seen. The walls that hugged its sides were just as massive and impressive, dark stone stretching a few miles on each side, turning in sharp angles and protruding in edges.  _ The king’s castle. _

Darvein Thirt appeared at his side. Only then could Lihan address the presence of more guards -more  _ normal _ -looking guards- near the gate; they did not wear the same attire as the King’s Lions, they seemed to be only clad in simple, dark steel armor, their helmets covering their nose and cheeks but not their eyes or mouths, showing normal, common folk-like faces. It felt like a new breath for Lihan, like turning a new page into a more normal world, and for a split-second he forgot he was about to die. 

“Captain Thirt, you’re already back!” One of the guards said, visibly surprised. 

“Yes, I sent a raven before I left Narthe.” She frowned. “Didn’t you get it?”

The man shook his head quickly. Something was off about his demeanor, as if he was… Scared? Of her? Probable, but that wasn’t it; Lihan examined every single one of his movements. He couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong about him.

“A-actually, captain, a raven has been sent to you as well,” He replied, tightening the grip on the spear he was holding on to. 

“I got no raven on the journey here, what did it say?” Thirt seemed curious, but her glance was getting darker and darker. Lihan had the feeling something bad had happened. 

“The… King…” The poor man didn’t seem to be able to find the words. 

“The King what?!” Darvein roared, impatient. “Whatever he has to say to me he can say it in person now, I was just about to go see him!” 

The guard whimpered lightly. “Captain Thirt, I’m afraid our beloved King Reinar… Has died two days ago in his bed chamber…”

Even from his position, Lihan saw Thirt’s expression fade into disbelief. 

“The burying ritual is about to begin in the temple.”

The captain of the King’s Lions turned around so fast, it actually startled Lihan. When she did, though, she found herself face to face with him, and he could see a million thoughts going through her brain. 

“Give him some clothes, we’re going to the temple.”

And so Merg and Bhur threw him back into the carriage along with a pair of trousers, a pair of boots and a simple shirt. Better than what he’d been wearing for almost a month, but it didn’t change the fact that he hadn’t taken a bath in that same amount of time. Yet, what puzzled him the most was that Thirt was going to bring him to the King’s burial. Why? Because she didn’t trust the soldiers to keep him under control? Or maybe it was about giving him a message, something about how the death of the king was the magicals’ fault and he had to pay for it. No explanation he could come up with made sense, but he had no time to come to any conclusion: he was taken out again, into the streets. The two burly Lions carried him, following Thirt as she made her way down the city hill and up again through streets crowded with people bowing to her and staring confusedly at him. The city of Kar didn’t look like it was populated by the poor: the houses had been built with sturdy stone and the people wore clean, elegant clothes, even the children. Of course, they had been walking close to the castle and, moving towards the temple, they must have still been in the nobles’ quarters; Lihan was sure that somewhere in the city, probably further down, near the harbor, sickness and poverty laid to waste the lower classes of the population. 

Thirt had walked upwards for quite a while now, and Lihan had noticed how the streets were becoming more and more crowded the closer they got to the temple. Luckily, people recognized her and let her and the other three men through. 

Finally, they reached a broad, open square, from which a larger route reached further up and to a massive set of stairs. At the top, a magnificent feat of architecture towered almost the whole city, being second in height only to the castle. 

The massive stone temple had the shape of an asymmetrical cross, its transept being located on the further end of the long, central nave. Right next to the entrance, a 40-something feet tall bell tower. What was most impressive, though, was the enormous dome situated on the meeting spot of nave and transept, its top reaching for the sky like a hand wanting to brush the gods. The colours of the façade didn’t seem to match the greatness of the architecture: different shades of grey made it elegant, but not as great as it could have been with a little more colour.

As they got closer and closer through the mourning crowd, Lihan spotted the intricate contrasting decorations made with different shades of stone and had to change his mind: the temple was truly amazing both in design and ornamentation. The massive doors were open, but he could still see the reliefs on them and the stories they narrated. He didn’t know them, but he felt moved by the beauty of their art. 

And if the outside had been striking, the inside was a bit more bare. The decorations on the façade weren’t present on the walls, but busts and statues of saints sprinkled over the three naves divided by thick pillar columns gave the temple a sense of history. Lihan stepped forward as Thirt did and the bright light coming from outside hit his face, changed into millions of colours by the stained glass windows high up on the walls. He was speechless, but his art tour ended soon enough; they had reached the burial ritual. 

An old Surm man dressed in black stood under a fifteen feet tall statue of the goddess Orel right beneath the huge, octagonal dome. It was the first time Lihan had actually seen a depiction of her, but she recognized nonetheless. The young-looking goddess wore a tight-fitting chestplate from which flowing robes of dark marble reached down to her bare feet. She had a fiery look to her stone cold eyes as she looked over the mourning crowd. In one hand, she held a sword, in the other, a balance.

“Brothers and sisters,” The Surm priest began, in a rasp but deep voice. “As you all know, our beloved King, Than Reinar, has passed away. We are here today to commemorate him, and to pray for his soul to be welcomed in the arms of the goddess and lead to paradise.” He spread his arms and closed his eyes. 

“Pray with me, brothers and sisters.” 

A murmur filled the temple as people all around Lihan began praying. He couldn’t understand what they were saying, but he found himself wondering if he should have been praying for a king that wanted him and all people like him dead. In his quest to find an answer, his eyes laid on someone just as uncomfortable as him: a young, Erylien man, straight dark hair bound into a tight bun on the upper back of his head. He wasn’t praying, but he had to feel Lihan’s eyes on him, because he looked up at him with long, thin, half-moon shaped, black eyes. He looked somewhat frightened. Lihan noticed the armor he was wearing and how he’d never seen anything like it, though he assumed it was the traditional plate-covered attire of his people. 

He was brought back to reality and so was the boy, as the priest spoke only once silence fell onto the temple once again. 

“May the goddess’s benevolence guide him to the light.” He turned slightly to his left, where Lihan spotted two figures standing a few feet from him: a young woman and a young man, the first in the arms of the second, both dressed in black. He thought they were a couple at first, but then he realised there was something more brotherly about their way to hold each other, and so he knew: they were che king’s son and daughter. “Mylord.” The Surm man called the young man, who nodded, stepping away from the girl. She didn’t seem to want to let go, tears streaming down her face.

The young man walked up to the priest, then addressing the crowd. “I am Kalel Reinar, son of Than Reinar.” 

Lihan looked at him. Dark brown curls covered his head as a light stubble did the same on his squared jaw. In the middle, bright blue eyes pierced the stare of everyone in the nave. He spoke with a low tone, but he could still be heard. He was wearing black armor, similar to that of the King’s Lions, but not quite as intimidating.

“As my father has passed away, the holy law proclaims I take his place as rightful King of Kar and of the five lands.” Though he tried to look the part, it was obvious he wasn’t ready to be king: his body was up straight, hands behind his back, but he was visibly shaking and his voice trembled ever so slightly, but his eyes kept staring ahead as he forced himself through the speech. 

“I’m here today to mourn my father’s death and to accept the honour of leading the people of Kar.” And with that, he kneeled down, one arm on his bent leg, head looking down. 

“The successor has been chosen.” The priest intervened. “The successor has accepted.” He stepped closer to him. “As the holy law proclaims, the crown will be bestowed by family upon family itself.” The man lifted a hand to gesture towards the girl. She moved closer as well, now holding a small, square grey pillow; on top of it, the crown of the King. It looked like it was made of silver, with red jewels embedded all around it. The crowd let out a happy sigh. 

The more Lihan looked at Kalel Reinar, the more he saw another magical hunting tyrant whose first order would have been to slaughter him like the pig he was. He found himself hating the young man after barely five minutes in the same room as him.

Suddenly, the girl spoke. “I am Maryon Reinar, daughter of Than Reinar.” Lihan heard her voice crack lightly at the mention of her father. 

“As my father has passed away, the holy law proclaims my brother takes his place as rightful King of Kar and of the five lands.”

She stepped forward, one hand leaving the pillow with the crown and travelling up to the button of her black cape.

“I’m here today to mourn my father’s death and to crown the true ruler of Tha’Kari.”

The button was let loose. The cape fell off in one swift and silent motion, revealing the beautiful, pristine white dress she was wearing underneath. Long, wavy blonde hair fell on her shoulders like only an angel’s could. She was beautiful. 

But something was wrong. The priest looked at her in disbelief.

“Mylady? Why are you dressed like--?” He tried to say, but she just lifted a hand in his direction and he was immediately thrown to the wall, slamming his head onto the cold stone, dying in an instant.

_ A magical? _

Commotion began moving the gathering of people as terror made its way into their mind. What was happening? Kelal jumped on his feet, confused.

“Maryon?! What are you doing?”

She smiled at him. “Crowning the true ruler of the five lands.” Then, she took the crown and placed it on her head, looking up at the ceiling with the happiest smile Lihan had ever seen. Meanwhile, the crowd was already trying to escape but lucky enough for Lihan, Merg and Bhur’s powerful frames were keeping him from being trampled to death. 

“Sorry, brother.” Maryon replied. “This is  _ my  _ big day.” Her magic hit him too, launching him across the nave just like the priest. Then, she raised both her hands and the very air Lihan was breathing became heavy and chilling, as if the temple had been filled with the same stone that made up its architecture.

Maryon began speaking.

_ “Arkh ma’leg tibut herftai bet’lin darday voilen ghath iwrem sabadh b’ftei.” _

Lihan didn’t know the language, but he didn’t have to wait much to understand exactly what the spell she was casting did: for the first time since he’d stepped in the temple, he noticed the many, rectangular-shaped stones on the floor and on the walls, some next to the busts he’d spotted, some engraved with names and dates he wasn’t familiar with. Most of them were behind the statue of the Goddess, but he only realised what was about to happen when he saw one right beneath his feet.

And then they all broke open at the same time.

 

Lihan managed to dart to one side as a decayed hand sprung from a crack in the floor and grabbed Bhur’s calf, barely managing to close around it. The guard seemed more worried about getting Lihan back to his place, but the corpse underneath him must have had way more strength than its state would’ve given him, because the King’s Lion couldn’t move an inch.

Lihan’s mind sparked. It was his chance to run. He got up from the stone floor just in time to find himself face to face with the Erylien boy from before. He was standing next to a man who looked a lot like him, though his features were less gentle - _ maybe his father? _ \- with a hand on the hilt of his sword. The man had his own already unsheathed. “What are you doing,  _ Aki’ra?  _ Defend yourself!” Lihan saw the panic in the boy’s eyes, then his father slicing an arm off of a decomposed skeleton in a tattered robe. He had to act fast. “I’m sorry!” Lihan yelled amongst the chaos, reaching forward and taking the Erylien’s sword right out of his hands, surprisingly without finding too much resilience. Then, he ran.

Maybe he had just sent a boy to his death, but he was unarmed and the scared Erylien didn’t seem to be intent on using his weapon. He just hoped the father would’ve kept him safe. 

As he made his way back to the entrance, he found hell itself waiting for him: living corpses and dying people surrounded him, as the first ones attacked relentlessly, focusing on everything that could move. Dodging a couple of bites from dead saints devoted to the Goddess, he noticed one thing: they were slow. He just had to make it back outside and… A man fell in front of him, a female corpse with ripped robes and missing hair angrily gnawing at his neck and ripping away flesh and blood alike. He felt sick, but he had to push on. Lihan lowered the sword onto the corpse’s neck swiftly, separating the body from the head and hoping it would’ve been enough to stop it. Not much further now, he could feel the breeze, the sun, the… Screams.

A noblewoman ran next to him, screeching, just to stop on her track when a large sword pierced her chest from the back, leaving her staring blankly ahead in terror as her life left her. Lihan turned around, horrified, finding himself in front of a tall, middle aged man, brandishing the sword that had just impaled the woman. Grey, long hair and a long beard gave him a hint, but the completely black eyes and the lion on the chestplate of his armor were overwhelming evidence: standing ahead of Lihan was the very reason they had come to the temple of Orel in the first place. With blue lips and an engorged throat signifying death by poison, was King Than Reinar, or what was left of him. Maryon had raised her own father from the dead. 

Lihan didn’t have time to be terrified, as he saw the large blade coming right for him. He barely dodged the hit that left a deep mark on the stone floor right where he had been moments before. Another swing was about to hit him, so he instinctively raised his sword, deflecting the blade away from him but almost leaving him disarmed by the sheer power of the impact. In a last attempt at stopping the dead King, he threw his weapon at the corpse’s head, finding out for the second time how sharp it was, as it slid about halfway through the man’s skull, right between his eyes. Now he really had to run. 

He didn’t care to look back at just how stunned he had left the former king, he had to escape, but ahead of him was just chaos and hoards of people fighting to break free from the horror. He had to act quickly, so he did: he rapidly turned left as soon as he got out of the temple, circling around the layout of the massive cross-shaped building. He could’ve ran away from the other side of the city. Where to, he didn’t know, he just wanted to get away. 

And for the upteenth time in his life, Lihan ran.

 

**_((To be continued.))_ **

 

 

 


	4. 8x04 - The Walking Dead

Green.

Not much else to see, really: just green thicket as far as the eye could see. Fern bushes at knee-height and thick oak trunks rising up to touch the sky and shield, with their massive branches full of emerald green leaves, the grove below from the already poor light coming through the heavy clouds above them. 

“Doesn’t feel like spring.” One of the two men muttered, using his hands to remove a particularly dense bush out of his feet’s way while, as if to prove his point, a cold shiver ran down his arms. 

“That’s northern Kar to you,” The other replied with a small smirk. “It may not feel like it, but it is spring for the forest.” He dodged a massive root protruding out of the dirt with careful feet. “The  _ Varai  _ we need only grows this time of the year.”

The first one scowled lightly. “I thought the trees would’ve sheltered us from the wind, that’s all.” He felt the goose bumps on his arm, even though they were covered by the bracers of his leather armor. The man glanced ahead of himself, eyeing his companion: they were dressed basically the same, yet the other one didn’t seem to feel any chill. As if he had read his mind, the other spoke: “I’m just as cold as you, don’t worry. I just prefer avoiding to complain, so that I don’t get too distracted.” 

Was that a dig at him? “Fuck you, Narth.” 

Narth giggled behind his ginger, patchy beard. “I’m just saying, Laki.”

With a grunt, Laki looked away from his friend to go back to scouting ahead. What he saw just about fifty meters ahead caused him to groan as well. 

“You gotta be kidding me.” 

This caused Narth to look up from his crouched position and to assume a more serious attitude. Ahead of the two men, slowly closing in on them, was a thick wall of fog. “Get ready.” The ginger man almost whispered, unsheathing his dagger from his belt. 

Laki looked nervous, but more irritated than scared. “They told us we weren’t going to run into any of them.”

“Correction: they told us the chances were low. Hey, that fog doesn’t inherently mean they’re near, it just means we must be even more careful in case they are.” 

Laki grabbed his short sword, grip tight around its hilt. 

“If I die today I’m biting your ass.” 

A small, nervous chuckle. Narth didn’t want to think about that. He forced himself to focus both on the plants at his feet and on the approaching mist as they pushed on. 

It wasn’t long until the grey had replaced the green all around them: the fog was even thicker than they had thought. Noticing the change, Laki turned around, but when he was back on his tracks, his partner was gone. 

“Narth?” He called, softly at first. “You there?”

Narth, who had kept on pacing forward, barely heard him over the sounds of his own footsteps, as his boots stepped on snapping twigs and grass shining from the morning dew. He didn’t mind to check if Laki was still behind him, but he soon found a reason to: the tip of his foot had just made contact with a dark green, almost bluish plant, from the top of which a dozen of small, blood-red flowers reached up to him, almost as if to call him.  _ Varai.  _ The man smiled excitedly, using his dagger to carefully chop off the flowers at the stem, immediately after sliding them into his side pouch. “Got it!” He exclaimed, perhaps a little too loud. As he got back up, he heard footsteps approaching behind him, and with the most obvious idea in mind, he turned around. 

“Laki, I found--” 

The walking corpse of a man wearing nothing but a tattered and dirty shirt stumbled towards him, seemingly unarmed, since it was brandishing nothing and his decaying hands were both extended in Narth’s direction, empty, glassy eyes fixated on him, pulsating with hunger. It was slow and the man was ready: his dagger flashed through the air and in a moment its blade was jabbed into the corpse’s skull. The dead man instantly fell limp on the ground as Nerth removed the weapon. 

He sighed in relief. It could’ve gone worse: he could’ve faced the corpse of an armed soldier. Narth knew the dead kept most of the physical or magical skills they had in life, but the one he had just killed had probably been a beggar or -further inspecting his attire- a man running away from a brothel. He was very thin, ribs showing underneath the greyish skin. Starved to death, maybe killed by the cold, even.

As the adrenaline settled down in him, Narth finally noticed his friend was nowhere to be seen. “Laki?” He called. No answer. He took a few steps in the direction he thought he had come from, but there simply was no sign of his companion. 

Dagger still in hand, blade still soaked in the blood of the dead, hand slightly shaking at the thought of being alone and lost, he put one foot ahead after the other, forcing himself forward as every sense in his body was working at peak level, trying to pick up anything that could signal him to move towards or away. How could it be? He hadn’t moved much since the fog had reached them, why wasn’t he seeing Laki by turning back? Could it be that he had wrongfully taken another direction? Gods damn it, he could’ve gotten lost in there. 

_ Snap. _

Narth instantly turned around, dagger high ahead of him, arm ready to strike. It had sounded very near, but nothing was coming for him. Strange. He took a couple of steps forward and naively called out for his friend. Nothing. And yet, no walking corpse had been alerted of his presence, which meant either there were no other threats or… They had found something better than him. At that realization, his ears perked up to the fear of hearing the dreadful and way too familiar sound of the dead feasting on flesh. 

Nothing. 

And then he saw it. A figure moving through the fog. A shadow, really, nothing more than a silhouette, slowly -and oddly silently- shifting towards somewhere to Narth’s right. It wasn’t coming for him, so he assumed it was Laki at first, but at the prospect of calling him and drawing the dead to both of them or even thinking of the eventuality of the figure not even being the other man, he kept his mouth shut and simply tried to follow the shape, fully knowing how dangerous it actually was. 

When his feet stopped meeting the uneven ground of roots and shrubs, he knew he -and the person in the mist- had reached some sort of clearing. During the silent chase, Narth had shifted towards believing that whoever was ahead of him was human, as a corpse would’ve smelled him already, but he could take nothing for granted. Suddenly, the figure ahead disappeared. Could the fog get any thicker? Narth swallowed a nervous lump, knuckles whitening around his dagger as he gingerly took the final steps into the clearing. He couldn’t take it anymore, this was leading nowhere. He had to know if Laki was near.

“Laki?” He called once again, this time louder. 

And then he heard different sounds, all at the same time. 

In front of him, something growled.

Somewhere even further up, a human voice called his name.

Behind him, something snapped. 

For a couple of seconds, everything moved slowly. He heard Laki call his name again, but he told him to be careful, while another corpse launched itself at him, teeth bared and eye sockets empty of whatever content. Before he could do anything better, Narth was on the ground, dagger resting somewhere near him, but not near enough for him to reach. Instinctively, he had brought his arm up, shoving his wrist covered in thick leather into the very mouth of the corpse. Its rotten teeth munched on the piece of armor, not quite managing to get through. He was struggling to get the dead man off of him, but as he tried to push him away he noticed his heavy armor and fur cape; there was no way to even budge him with his own strength. At least the corpse wasn’t wearing a helmet: if he could have just reached for his dagger or whatever blunt or sharp object, he could’ve gotten it over with, but his free hand roamed around without success. And where in the five lands was Laki?! 

He heard steps, fast steps, approaching from behind, but that was not where he had heard his friend’s voice come from. Yet, before he knew it, someone was onto the corpse, pulling its left arm until it effortlessly slid off its shoulder, just like that. Whoever had done it must have known the dead man had a busted arm, that was no mere luck; but whoever had done it was close enough so that Narth could see them, and it certainly wasn’t Laki: a tall man stood above the two writhing people on the ground and though Nerth couldn’t see his face clearly, he saw him remove the steel from the dead man’s arm, then following it up with the very rotting flesh until only the bone was left. In a peak of wit, the ginger man knew what was about to happen and tilted his head to a side, using all of the strength in his arm to push the corpse’s head upward, where bone met bone and the skull was pierced by the humerus. 

Finally, his saviour pulled the lifeless body off of him and crouched over it once again. 

“T-thank you.” Narth mumbled, rubbing his wrist and checking for wounds: none, luckily. 

“Narth!” Laki’s voice came to him loud and clear; he was nearby. “I’m over here.” He replied. Turning towards the mysterious man, he saw him fumble with the knot on the fur coat around the dead man’s neck. He was probably cold, though in the fog he couldn’t clearly see his attire. Suddenly, Laki was at his side. As they saw each other, they immediately pulled each other into a strong bear hug, Narth almost suffocating against his friend’s larger frame.

“Fucking shit, Narth.” Laki breathed out. “I thought I had lost you.”

The ginger man nodded. “Me too.”

“What happened?”

“I found the  _ Varai _ , but when I turned around you weren’t there.”

“Damn it, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” Narth grinned. “We’re both still here.”

Laki’s dark eyes darted to the man crouched a few feet away. “Who’s that?”

“I don’t know, but he just saved my life.” He turned to the stranger and stepped forward. “Hey!” 

The man’s head snapped in their direction and Nerth finally saw his face. Behind long, raven black, wavy hair, ice blue eyes glared at him. He almost couldn’t see his lips, as a thick, long, dark beard covered them and his jaw. He was wearing what looked like multiple and various pelts, all stitched together somehow. The only weapon he carried was a rusty looking knife. That was probably why he’d had to use a bone to kill the corpse. The man was looking filthy, but he was, nonetheless, alive.

“Should we…?” Narth heard Laki say.

“Take him with us?” He finished the sentence for him. “He doesn’t look very keen on the idea, to be completely honest.”

The man took them by surprise when, with a low, gruff and raspy voice, almost as if he hadn’t spoken a word in months, he replied: “Where?” His hand was on the rusty weapon already. 

“Before we tell you where,” Narth began, noticing his move. “we need to ask you a few questions.” 

The stranger narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “Ask away.”

To that, the ginger man took a small breath. “Alright.” Every time he had to do this, he’d always wish and hope for the best possible answers but, most of the times, the world they lived in didn’t allow for  _ best possible answers  _ to happen. So every time he’d go back home with a small piece of hope missing, wondering when it would’ve run out completely. He set his dark eyes on the rugged man.

“How many of the dead have you killed?”

There was something in the other’s eyes, as if he’d been reliving every single memory in his head for a split-second, maybe trying to count them. The longer it took for him to count, the worse Narth felt. 

It actually only took him a couple of seconds to answer: “Too many to keep count.”

Narth sighed. Once again, not the answer he was hoping for, but he had to press on; the second question was going to be harder.

“How many people have you killed?”

Another pause. Then, the man spoke. “You separated the dead from ‘people’. That means you don’t believe they are like you. Or maybe it’s not something you inherently believe, it’s something you  _ know. _ How do you know that?”

Laki chimed in, serious: “They are  _ not _ like us. And if you lost count of how many you killed, then you should know it too, you fuck--”

A glare from Narth silenced him. “You answered my question with another question.”

Though the stranger seemed to be smarter than most men, that only made him less worthy of blind trust. Narth knew very well how bad a cunning man could really be. 

“Please, answer me.” He iterated.

“None.” The man’s ice-blue eyes were fixated on his, and Narth saw no lie. Though the last question depended heavily on the second one, he chose not to ask. Instead, he changed the ‘why?’ to a ‘how?’

“How did you manage it?”

“I’ve lived in the forests since all of this began.”

Laki interrupted again. “You’ve been out here for a  _ year _ ?”

It had been a year. Narth could see the shock in the man’s eyes, though he was good at hiding it an instant later. He saw him nod.

“I was there, at the temple, when it started.” 

The taller of the two men widened his eyes in surprise. “And you saw the White Queen raising the dead? You lived through the massacre of the Temple of Orel?” 

Narth had a curiosity. “Was it there? Where you learned how to permanently get rid of the dead?”

“How to shove a blade in a dead man’s skull? Yes.” The stranger cackled bitterly. “I had to shove an Erylien sword right between King Than’s eyes.”

“You killed the king?!”

A look, straight into his eyes. “The second time.” He moved his glance away. “I saw his body, his… Corpse. He looked like he had been poisoned.”

Though there was a small surprised gasp coming from the two men, Narth shook his head lightly. “I’m afraid who killed the king or how doesn’t matter anymore. Since the White Queen sat on the Grey Throne, none wish to oppose her.”

“Nobody wants to be eaten alive by her servants and brought back to join her ranks.”

The stranger frowned. “Her servants? She controls them?”

The other two nodded in silence.

“That one didn’t look very… Controlled. Most of the ones I’ve met act like wild, hungry animals.”

Another nod. “We think it might be because her magic doesn’t extend to all Tha’Kari. She can make the dead obey her as long as she’s close, but we’ve heard of Ery’Le being fully free of… How did they call them again, Narth?” 

“ _ Jeinn. _ It means ‘evil spirit’ in Erylien dialect, if I’m not mistaken.” 

“You’ve… Heard? From who?”

Narth found himself telling the truth before he had the chance to think of a lie.

“Other rebels, like us.” 

“Rebels?” The man asked, puzzled. 

“We plan to end the White Queen’s tyranny.”  

  
  


The vagabond only agreed to follow the two men when Laki, as he had introduced himself, gave him his sword. He didn’t trust them completely and, most of all, he didn’t trust his ruined blade to take care of both of them without any risk and he certainly didn’t like the idea of fighting two alive men bare handed, only to have to take care of their revived corpses once they would’ve been down. He’d rather follow them at a few feet distance, sword held high and ahead of himself, eyes wandering from one man’s back to the other, searching and scanning for any micro-movement that might had given any bad intention away. Yes, they had told him most things he did not know, but then again, such had happened before, he had been once betrayed. Any  _ living _ servant of the queen could’ve known those things; what if they were spies, dressed as rebels to find survivors and recruit them to see who’d have joined their cause, only to bring them to Kar and execute them? Bringing them back from death to serve their queen since they had not done it in life? Holding the biggest weapon and walking behind them, he had every advantage: he was pretty sure he knew that forest better than them, he could’ve slipped away at any moment, at any sign of vicinity to the capital. He would have believed them when he’d have seen their hideout. 

They had been walking in silence for a while before Narth spoke out again; they were almost out of the woods and the position of the sun in the sky behind the clouds told him they were heading North-Westwards. 

“When it started, the pillaging, raping and slaughtering shortly followed. Most people saw it as the end of the world.” He heard the ginger man explain. 

Laki’s comment followed shortly: “It was the end of  _ their _ world.”

The man heard his statement and noticed, for the first time, just how bad the situation really was. Living in the woods for a whole year, isolated, eating berries and barely cooked rabbits, dispatching any walking corpse that forced him to sleep with an eye open… It had really taken him out of everything else, secluding him from the world around him, a dying world at the end of its days. That was, of course, unless the rebels managed to kill the queen and restore peace to the five kingdoms. 

Maybe joining them wasn’t a bad idea.

The three men stepped out of the now thinner lines of trees to be met with a vast reach of dark grass, extending for a few thousands of feet before abruptly ending in a cliff. In the distance, the sound of waves. 

“I see nothing but grass and sky.” The man tightened the grip on the sword. “Where’s this hideout you speak of?”

“It’s protected.” Narth was quick and confident in his response. “We are rebels, we can’t just show our headquarters to the naked eye, not in Kar at least, or we’ll have the queen’s troops knocking at our doors before we could say ‘magical’.” 

It made enough sense, or at least so hoped the rugged man. The hike up towards the cliff was long and silent, during which he couldn’t help but think about the two so-called rebels pushing him off the cliff or handing him to Maryon Reinar herself. 

But Laki and Narth stopped on their tracks at about three hundred meters from the edge of the cliff. 

“We need you to know, friend,” Narth proclaimed. “that the men inside are very ready to fight back, in case you’d like to try something stupid.”

The vagabond arched an eyebrow. “Inside?”

Narth and Laki took a step back from him and, in the blink of an eye, they vanished.

“Come.” Strange, he could still hear their voices as if they were standing right in front of him. The wanderer hesitated, reluctant to step blindly into danger, but eventually decided to do it. He had no evil intention of his own, plus he still had the sword. He stepped forward and a moment later he was standing in front of the two rebels again. It was like he had stepped into another world. Narth had a small smile on his young face. 

“Welcome to the Kar rebel stronghold.” He said, hands on his sides. Lifting his gaze for the first time since he had taken that step, the fur-wearing man saw it: the great stone castle behind the two rebels. It extended more vertically than horizontally, but that only made it more intimidating, tips and spiers slendering the whole construction towards the sky while its roots seemed to be planted deep into the rock. Realizing the bastions and towers stood atop the very edge of the cliff, he wondered what marvelous view the castle must have had from that side. It was true: the rebels were real, they were going to take him in and he was going to help them overthrow queen Maryon. 

It had been a year since he’d been so hopeful.

“Come inside, uh--” Laki stopped in his tracks. “You haven’t told us your name yet.”

The rugged and filthy man lowered his gaze from its architecture-admiring view and looked straight into the rebel’s eyes. “My name is Lihan.”

 

The entrance to the castle was big enough for a carriage to get through, its stone arch over the three men’s head as they walked past the threshold. It lead to an open, quadrilateral courtyard around which the walls of the building closed in a dark grey embrace. Small mullions broke the stillness of the stone, giving whoever was inside a way to look over the entrance. The walls on each side of the gate also had wooden passageways from what looked like two sight towers to the rest of the castle that extended over the courtyard and to the edge of the cliff. 

Lihan stood in the center of the asymmetrical square and slowly spun onto his heels, his gaze elevated and fixated onto every single detail of the place he was maybe about to call home. He couldn’t help but think about Jaela.

An unfamiliar face appeared from one of the walkways above them. A voice soon followed.  _ “You fuckers back?” _ Male. Young. Heavy accent. 

Laki was the first to reply. “What does it look like, cunt?” Lihan frowned. A pause.

The other three burst into loud laughter. Narth lifted his hand to point at Lihan. “We’ve got a recruit!” He hollered at the young man upstairs. 

“Come on in, then. Fharall will wanna talk to ye.” And with that, his completely shaved head had gone back inside. The two rebels gestured Lihan towards another large door parallel to the entrance gate. As they approached it and it was opened for them, Lihan asked:

“Who’s Fharall?” 

“Our chief.” Narth waved to a couple of women walking down their same corridor, dressed in similar gear, probably headed outside. Lihan noticed them and was once again reminded of his old life at Marybel. It had been so long since he’d seen a woman. He felt oddly bothered at the thought. Laki’s remark brought him back.

“He’s a bit peculiar. Likes fancier names.”

“Well,” Narth chuckled “I’m sure he’ll get to hear them all before the sun sets.” 

They kept on walking through a simple and barely decorated -if not for a few pelts and goat horns used as candlesticks- hallway until they eventually reached what looked like the main hall. Three long, wooden tables were the main feature on the floor, probably hosting all of the rebels at meal times; but the walls were much more impressive. Each side had another array of pelts and furs, but was also covered in fine tapestries of red and gold, blue and grey, black and green. Each and every one of them seemed to be narrating some kind of traditional story, the ones Lihan had sometimes heard singing about, though the words of the old ballads were blurry in his mind, unclear. Narth, Laki and him made their slow way towards the opposite end of the hall, walking between the left and central table, while Lihan kept looking up at the beautiful embroideries. They seemed to hold so much history and culture; just like he had been at the sight of the Temple of Orel, he felt overwhelmed. His heart skipped a beat when his eyes met the one tapestry depicting a large, fire-breathing dragon. Its skin was dark red, but it was ornated by meticulous details of blue shades in its scales. The whole world felt like it had stopped when he took the whole drawing in. 

There were tiny, human-like figures underneath the dragon’s powerful and sharp talons: screaming, wiggling, trying to break free from its grip or dying into the fire in endless agony. Lihan thought he could hear them, but when he tried to be more careful, his ears perking up attentively, the only thing his mind immediately ran to was the mighty, earth-shattering roar from his dreams.

“Lihan?” Laki was calling him. 

He nodded, stepping up to the other two. They had reached the end of the hall. There, a few meters from the back wall, was another long table, horizontal and elevated on a few stone steps, so that the diners could look over the others as they ate or spoke. Only one man sat at the central chair; long, grizzled hair fell onto his shoulders and brushed the table under his powerful, dark leather-covered arms. His pale hands looked busy as he dragged a calloused finger on a piece of parchment, while his furrowed eyebrows almost completely covered his occupied eyes. Next to him, standing, was the young man from before, smiling at them.

Narth nodded at him and he cleared his throat, lightly straightening his back. He turned to Lihan. “You stand in the presence of Fharall Steelbear, King of the Cliffs and of the Great Forests. Rebel Chief of Kar.” Narth answered with a small bow. “Mylord, this man demands hearing. We found him in the woods, living off game and berries, fighting the dead and surviving. Will you allow him to join our ranks and fight for the rebellion and its cause?”

Fharall Steelbear lifted his gaze. Dark grey eyes set onto Lihan. He noticed he had small braids in his thick beard. He saw them lightly move as the man set the scroll aside. Finally, the King of the Cliffs spoke.

“What is your name?” His voice matched his appearance perfectly: gruff and low-toned, with a similar accent to the one the bald young man had. It sounded common, of low rank, not the one he’d expected from a man who had himself called king. Yet, the world had turned upside down, it seemed; the former vagabond was starting to learn not to let himself be that surprised. 

“I’m Lihan.” He replied, staring up at him. A certain look from Narth just at his left invited to continue. He knew exactly which word he had missed. “Mylord.”

The man arched one eyebrow. “What house are you from, Lihan?” He pronounced his name with a touch of curiosity, almost as if it sounded out of place, never heard before. “I… Don’t think I belong to any house, mylord.” Lihan began explaining, increasingly nervous somehow, as all eyes in the room -though there were only four other people around him-  were fixated on him, scanning, judging, inspecting. 

“Are you a bastard?” The question was peculiar. He’d never heard anything like that during his time at Marybel; no one had asked him, anyways, and he had never wondered if that was the case. Jaela had never mentioned the possibility, either.

“I don’t know, mylord. I lost any memory more than a year ago. I woke up one night in a stranger’s home and I didn’t know anything about myself except for my name.”

Fharall Steelbear lifted his chin, looking down at him from his elevated seat. “Very well.” He began, the slightest hint of a smile on his fair lips. “This world has been shaken to its very core, I believe who any of us were before the dead came back to life does not matter anymore. The only important thing is that we’re here, now, fighting to restore the order of life upon the five kingdoms. We are alive in this moment, the past is gone.” The man stood up and Lihan realised he wasn’t that tall, standing at just a couple of inches above the young boy next to him. “If you wish to join us and fight for the rebellion, you are welcome here.” Lihan watched as he approached him, stepping down the short stairs and standing in front of him. 

“What’s your answer?” 

He nodded slowly. “I want to join you.”

“Then let this be a new start for you.” Steelbear put his hands on his shoulders. “From this day, you shall have a name that represents you, a name that everyone who still supports the queen shall tremble at the sound of! What shall this name be?”

Narth stepped in. “If I may, mylord, I have a suggestion.” The two men turned to him. “We found him in the thickest of mists, back in the forest. I think Smokeblade would fit him well.” 

Fharall looked back at the dirty young man in front of him, waiting impatiently for an answer, and the other met his eyes.

“Then I shall be Lihan Smokeblade.” He replied.

“ _ LOUDER!”  _ The King of Cliffs yelled right in his face. 

_ “I AM LIHAN SMOKEBLADE!”  _

_ “GOOD! BE PROUD OF WHO YOU ARE! FROM THIS DAY UNTIL THE DAY YOU DIE!” _ Fharall roared, sounding both serious and proud. He gave Lihan a big and loud pat on his back that pushed him towards the other two rebels. “Give him a room and some armor, show him around.” He commanded, his voice back to the way it was when they had first met. Narth looked over Lihan’s shoulder. “Chulain? Could you do that? I need to get this  _ varai _ back to the sanatorium. Master Julion said it was urgent.”

The young and eager boy pranced up to him with a big smile on his face. “Of course.” He then turned to Lihan. “Come with me, Smokeblade!” He chuckled lightly, which made Lihan wonder if his last name had been a bad choice. 

Chulain guided him back into the first hallway he had been through, the one leading to the courtyard, and then abruptly turned left into a small open door. The stairs on the other side seemed to lead upwards, to the second floor of the walls around the entrance, where Lihan had seen the wooden walkways. Where the set of stairs ended, a long corridor began, presumably covering the entire length of the walls and leading to one of the two towers and as they traversed it, Lihan spotted the doors to the balcony. Suddenly his cicerone stopped in his tracks in front of a door, loudly knocked on it, and finally turned back to Lihan. “This one should be free.” He said with another smile. “I’ll be back with some armor and a weapon. Any preferences?” Lihan didn’t think about it too much. “Sword, thank you.” 

The boy nodded goodbye and left him alone. Lihan eyed the door with a certain weight in his heart.  _ Home.  _ He opened it to find a rather small room decorated with the bare necessities: a small, fur-covered bed, a wardrobe, a basin, a dirty mirror. It wasn’t his old quarters back at Marybel, but it wasn’t the woods of Kar either. “It will do.” He said to himself, softly as he closed the door behind him. The basin looked the most inviting at the moment, so he headed towards it. There wasn’t much water in it but he needed every drop of it extremely. He would make it work. Looking up for a second, his eyes met his reflection’s for the first time in more than a year and he was utterly startled; the mess of a man looking back at him was nothing like the whore he had been used to seeing in the mirror when he shaved in the past. His hair was greasy and long, his face was filthy with dirt, his beard was sprinkled with dried up blood and he didn’t even know if it came from his latest meal or from the dead he’d taken care of. Something inside him broke. He had lived like that so long he had never considered his own looks, as even clear rivers in sunny days didn’t show his reflection in all its ugliness. For a while, he tried to figure out what exactly was so bothering about his appearance, attempting to put his finger on it; then, he finally realized. His old self was completely gone now. He hadn’t fully admitted it to himself because he hadn’t seen the change yet, but now that it stood clear in front of his eyes, he had to face it.

Lihan expected some sort of stronger reaction. Smashing the mirror in pieces, using the small razor on the sink to cut all the ugly parts of his body away, but as he felt nothing of the sorts, he realized how truly changed he was: he had no interest in going back to who-- to  _ what _ he was in the past. Fharall Steelbear’s words echoed in his mind. 

_ “We are alive in this moment, the past is gone.” _ He murmured to his own reflected image, as if it was a secret he had sworn to keep. 

There was a knock on the door. Chulain. Lihan went to answer. The boy stood outside with a large chest which seemed to be crushing his spine, although the look on his face tried to hide it. “Give it here.” Lihan said, but Chulain shook his head. 

“I can do it!” He exclaimed eagerly, stepping inside and almost forcing the other man to move aside. Setting the chest down near the bed, the boy let out a pained grunt. 

“Are you alright?” Lihan asked, slightly worried the poor guy could break his back. 

“Oh, it’s fine,” He replied with a cackle, but rubbing his evidently sore spine. “Fharall always says I’ll break me bones if I keep like this, but he’s wrong, I’m fine!”

Lihan wasn’t entirely convinced, but decided to let him go. “Good.” He said, and with a final wave the boy was gone again.

Once alone, the man kneeled to open the chest. Same leather armor he’d seen on the other rebels, same kind of sword Laki had back in the forest. Not the best, but it would’ve been enough. He laid it all on the bed, before going back to the sink. His self-made fur boots came off first. Yes, he definitely needed a bath. The rest of his haphazardly sewn armor was gone soon enough, leaving him mostly naked in front of the mirror for the first time in a very long while. He felt anxious as he examined the skin he had covered for so long, not really paying attention to it during the very few times he had washed it. It was a like another person was standing in front of him, a stranger who had killed his old self in the forests of Kar. 

He washed himself as thoroughly as he could with the small amount of water he had, stopping immediately when his fingers brushed against the scar on his thigh. 

But they only lingered there for a couple of seconds. 

He found a large cloth in the wardrobe and quickly dried himself off, before deciding once and for all what he was going to do with his hair. The razor was right there: he grabbed it. Raven black lock after raven black lock, it fell on the wet floor. When he looked at the mirror again, it was considerably shorter, but not too much. 

Lihan eyed the razor blade once more. Then, he set it down. 

Finally, he wore his armor; it fit him pretty well, luckily. The sword wasn’t too heavy either, which was good. He sheathed it onto his left side, finally heading for the door.

 

When he got back to the entrance, he suddenly realized he had received no orders. He could have gone back to his room and got some shuteye before whatever the next day might have brought, but he felt no fatigue whatsoever; the adrenaline from the past few hours and the excitement for change were still running through his veins. Lihan looked around impatiently, spotting unfamiliar faces whose puzzled stares told him he probably wasn’t completely trusted yet. Ordinary enough. He hoped to see Narth, Laki or Chulain, the only people he could somewhat call friends in there, since he wasn’t confident in his socializing skills just yet, not after a year of living like a hermit, anyways. The newly recruited rebel had been leaning against the stone wall for a few minutes when he remembered where he might have found Narth. He recalled him saying something about taking some sort of plant to the sanatorium; if he could have find it, he would’ve found him as well, or at least he hoped so. He walked all the way back to the main hall, squinting as he stepped over the doorway: Fharall wasn’t sitting at his table anymore. Scanning the room caused him to see a few other people present, sitting in various places. Lihan approached the closest group. 

Three women: an older Welosi and two young ones, probably native to Kar, sat around a large map of the northern side of the land. He heard one of them explaining how the dead behaved to the other two, probably newcomers as well. At least he knew the older one might have known where to find the sanatorium. He stepped closer carefully, not wanting to interrupt abruptly. The Welosi had some silver in her dark hair. She looked up at him. 

“Excuse me,” He started, politely “I didn’t mean to step in. I’m looking for… Master Julion?” He hoped he remembered the name right. She nodded and smiled gently, pointing to an opening on the side of the hall. 

“That’s the Mage’s Tower. Second floor.” 

Lihan thanked the woman and was promptly on his way. He basically flew up the stairs for no particular reason other than anticipation. Much like the two sight towers in the front of the castle, the Mage’s one had a square layout, but it was way larger. The stairs only occupied one side of the tower, while other rooms he did not know the purpose of took the rest of it, facing outwards from the castle. Lihan finally reached the sanatorium, knocking onto the wooden door before opening it slowly. Its hinges creaked, which made an old man and Narth, who were talking near a small bed occupied by a presumably injured rebel, turn towards the intrusion. 

“Ah, there he is.” The ginger man said, smiling at Lihan. “Master Julion, this is Lihan Smokeblade, the new recruit.” 

The old Master eyed him from his place in the room. “Very well, young man. You won’t be always in here, will you?” He joked in a cracky but deep voice.

Lihan did his best to pull out a smile. “I hope not.”

He saw Narth put something down on a small table near him. “May I assist you, Lihan? Do you need something?” 

“Oh no, nothing in particular.” Lihan explained, stepping closer to the two. “I just wanted to know if there was something I could do. Anything, really.”

“Of course.” The other rebel replied in his soft spoken tone. “Well, I usually help here at the sanatorium, but you could try and see if Lady Grelos needs some help down in the armory. She might give you a bit of training as well.” A small pause. “Oh, and don’t call her Lady. She gets _ really  _ offended.” 

Lihan arched an eyebrow, half-smiling. “Alright, then. I’ll look for the armory. Thank you.” He was already on his way, when the door to the large room slammed open. A man and a woman were carrying the bloody mess who was probably once a man as well. Lihan was startled. 

“Master Julion! Haef was bitten!” The woman cried out, dirty blonde hair sticking to her forehead with both sweat and blood. 

Both Narth and the old man were already preparing a bed for the wounded rebel. “Is that all his?” the younger medic asked, while the two rushed the unconscious man on the bed. “No,” the male rebel replied, blood pouring from a nonexistent cut on his forehead “We ran into a patrol. They were… Controlled.” 

“Controlled?!” Narth was visibly nervous “This up north?!” The other two nodded. 

“Focus.” It was master Julion to bring the attention back. They carefully removed the clearly chewed leather bracer. “I thought those things were supposed to protect us!” The woman bellowed, searching for support in her companion’s arms. 

“They were…” Narth murmured, staring down at the bite wound on the man’s wrist. 

“Narth… You know what to do.” Said the old Master.

In a flash, the ginger man ran to a table close by and rustled with the items on top of it for a couple of instants. When he came back, Lihan saw what he had in his hands and shivered: a metal saw. The two rebels who had brought the injured one in turned away with a gasp. “He’s unconscious, luckily.” The old man commented, tying a tight leather lace around the upper forearm.

Then, Narth started cutting. 

Even Lihan, who had already seen his share of gore and blood in the past year, had to look away. 

It took various minutes filled with awful sounds, but finally the amputated arm laid on the table near the bed, while Narth inspected the cut attentively, sweat dripping down his forehead even though he kept wiping it off. 

Master Julion approached the bed with a wooden bowl. “You’ve done a great job, Narth. And the  _ Varai  _ you got earlier today will ease the healing process and hopefully clean the body of any remaining disease.” He then proceeded to cover the whole stump in a thick, dark green cream-like substance. He set the bowl back down and finally laid his hands above the arm. A moment later, small, bright white tendrils caressed the wound. Narth approached Lihan. “Well, that’s a quite a sight for a first day, eh?” He cackled bitterly. “You should--” A pained scream interrupted him. The man on the bed had suddenly woken up and his whole upper body had jerked up so suddenly and so fast that he had knocked Master Julion back and right off his feet. The old man was now on the floor, grunting as he tried to get up. Lihan knew he had to do something, so he ran to him, helping him up, while Narth and the other two were trying to keep the man down on the bed. He was still screaming. 

“We need to tie him down!” Yelled Narth, and the two rebels had the same idea: they removed the belts holding up their swords and handed them to the medic, who immediately used them to bind the man’s limbs and torso to the bed below him, though he struggled back the whole time. 

“I don’t think the herbs have worked.” The Master said, worriedly.

“Is he turning?!” 

“I’m afraid so. There’s not much we can do…”

“There  _ has _ to be something!” 

“Well…” The old Master put a hand to his bearded chin. 

“What is it?” Lihan asked. Whatever he could have done to help, he would have done it. 

“I’ve read about an artifact, powerful magic, hidden in an ancient temple of an old goddess, deep into the forest.” 

“Can it heal him?” Narth was ready to go. 

“It might be able to. We won’t know for sure until we find it, and it might not even be there. Furthermore, I’m not quite sure of its exact location.” Stated the old men. 

Lihan thought about it. Something about an ancient temple in the woods felt oddly familiar. It dawned on him. “I know where it is.”

“You do?!” 

“I think I spent a night just outside of it. I can lead you there.” 

“No. I need Narth here. My magic is not strong enough after that fall.”

Narth turned to Lihan. “Do you think you can go alone?”

He nodded. “I’ve been out there. I can handle myself.” 

 

Lihan hopped onto the first horse he found in the stables next to the entrance and hoped it would obey. Luckily, it did, and he was off. He couldn’t lie to himself: the threat of dead soldiers controlled by the queen roaming around nearby scared him a little, but he galloped towards the trees as fast as he could, his body pressing onto the horse’s black mantle as it raced. Once in the thicket, he had to slow down. 

To a normal person, those woods might have looked the same in every direction, but he knew them like the back of his hand. The horse was now trotting Westwards. Luckily enough, the temple wasn’t as far as he remembered. Perks of travelling on steed, he guessed. He tied the reins to a rather thick branch and took the sight in: a dome-like, stone structure covered in vines, ivy and moss. It might had even remained unseen to a less careful eye, but there it was. The carvings on the walls of the entrance were ruined and just as covered as the outside. 

A thunder above Lihan’s said informed him of an oncoming storm. He hoped he could get out before it would’ve been impossible to make his way back. 

Once on the inside of the ruin, he was met with a descending hallway carved into the stone, with a surprisingly lit brazier on its side. Was someone there? Lihan drew his sword and its metallic noise echoed through the empty walls. He made his way down gingerly, each step calculated and careful not to be too noisy. He found himself in front of another, smaller door. This one had carvings too, but they looked more like twirls and floral patterns. He slowly pushed it open; another long hallway with decorated, darker rectangular patterns on the walls, another lit brazier. Whoever had been there before him, either had already left or was deeper into the ruin. He could see another doorway at the end of the hall, but the further he went, the more his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the fire and the more he noticed that what he had signed off as decorative patterns on the walls were actually cavities in the wall, and not as hollow as he’d hoped. In each and every rectangular hole laid a long, slowly rotting, wooden, box. 

No, not a box.

A  _ casket. _

Lihan shivered, lifting his sword up. His movement caused the blade to vibrate in the air, and the flame in the brazier flickered. He heard a thump on his left. Lihan swallowed thickly, turning to see another one of the coffins just at arm’s reach.

Another thump.

And another, this time behind him. 

And another.

And another.

Each and every one of the cavities was coming to life, with him stuck in the middle of the hallway. He had to go. He sprinted down the corridor and slammed the door open, meeting the sight of an underground great hall with massive pillars holding up the ceiling in the center. He certainly couldn’t stop to take in the architecture as he’d have liked to do, but he did spot more designs on the high walls and a few parts of the room that were a bit more ruined, like a few collapsed smaller columns and cracked pieces of flooring. Torches and candles were lit up everywhere, but he saw no sign of whoever might had been there before. He could still hear the thumping, so he quickly made sure to close the door behind himself, but couldn’t find anything to block it off. Knowing he had to act and that he had to do it fast, he began running down the hall, eventually reaching the opposite end, where the wall was completely filled with carvings similar to the ones on the doors, except these ones intertwined and circulated around the figure of a robe-wearing woman, or at least Lihan thought it was a woman, since the carving was ruined as everything else. There was a large stone altar in front of him. On top of it, two dark, round stones which, as opposed to everything else, were not covered in ivy, looking almost out of place in the temple. Was that the artifact Master Julion was talking about? They surely didn’t look special, but he could only hope. Lihan also noticed a small jute bag on the side of the altar. He grabbed the stones and shoved them inside the bag, which he then tied to his belt. He turned around just as the entrance door burst open, the growls of the dead echoing in the great hall. 

“Fuck.” He murmured, grabbing his sword again. From his spot, he tried to count just how many adversaries he had. One, two, three…  _ Twenty-one.  _

The strength of the dead was in numbers, especially if not controlled by the queen. But just how far did her magic reach? Were these after him or after the taste of flesh? Lihan eyed them as they got closer, inspecting their behaviour: wearing only tattered, once-green robes, they were not armed, except for one; this completely armored, sword wielding corpse had lifted up from some hidden corner of the hall and not from the corridor with the others. Though threatening, they were still slow, which made Lihan think the queen’s magic didn’t go as deep underground as they were. Better, easier, but dangerous nonetheless. He stepped forward, the armed dead being the first in line, its heavy armor clanging with each echoing step. It must’ve been dead for a long time, because the skin had already dried on his partially uncovered skull, on which only a few thin hairs clinged to. Lihan saw the dead soldier lift a heavy hand to strike him with his sword, but it was way too slow. He managed to dodge to a side and immediately shove his blade into his naked bone, almost breaking his skull in half by doing so. The soldier fell to the ground, sword clanging loudly on the stone floor. More dead were coming, but Lihan dispatched of three of them, before a fourth took him by surprise: it had tripped onto a small set of stairs and had fallen right in front of him, sharp teeth way too close to his ankle, which it had grabbed. Lihan fell hard onto the ground, groaning loudly in pain, desperately trying to get up as the dead woman attempted at biting his foot. To his left laid the sword abandoned by the soldier. Lihan grabbed it, slicing a rotting arm reaching for him right off the ancient priest it belonged to, while he used his own weapon to kill the one at his feet. He got up quickly, slamming his shoulder into one of the circling corpses. He was surrounded, he noticed. 

_ “DOWN!” _ A voice roared from somewhere in the hall, and Lihan quickly and instinctively obliged, throwing himself down again. Then, he felt the unmistakable heat of flames cutting the air above him in half, doing the same to the revived deads’ heads with infernal warmth. He heard the corpses fall down around him and only then he allowed himself to open his eyes, both swords ready in his hands. He jumped back up, lifting his weapons, gaze fixated on the man who stood at about ten feet from him. He must have been just a couple of years younger than him, but his posture was the one of an adult man. Standing at probably a few inches taller than Lihan, the stranger straightened up from his previous fighting stance, his dark blue robe rustling around him as he set down the long, wooden staff he was holding in one hand. It was a masterpiece of woodwork, with tangled strands of woods intertwining both at the lower end and on the upper end, where their twirls and turns reminded him of dancing flames, with narrow ribbons flowing down from them.    Lihan noticed the blood red details on his apparel once he stepped in the light of the flames he had cast, which were still burning onto the tattered robes of the ancient priests. When the light illuminated him more, Lihan noticed dark, almost black eyes and a lion mane of wavy hair of the same shade. On the left side of the man’s head, a small braid connected his temple to the back of his cranium. Thin lips were surrounded by a wispy, dark beard. The stranger had an asymmetrical leather chestpiece covering his left side prominently, probably to protect his most vital organs. On a belt on his hips, he had a few small scrolls and tiny ampoules containing  liquids Lihan didn’t know the name of. His robe split underneath the belt, giving him more mobility as his legs were free from the restraint a full skirt would have given him. His dark boots were stained with dust and dirt.

“You’re very welcome.” The man said with a rather deeper voice than Lihan would have imagined, all while raising a sarcastic eyebrow. 

The rebel had more pressing questions. “Who are you?” He asked, still not lowering his fighting stance. 

The other man pretended to think about it. “The fucker who just saved your life? I still haven’t heard you thanking me, by the way.” He had the slightest Welosi accent. 

Lihan blinked. “Thank you. Now tell me who you are.” 

“How about…” The mage lifted his staff again, aiming its intricate tip towards him “...You tell me first.”

“Why?”

“You’re wearing a rebel’s armor, but you’re sacking an ancient temple. Is that what the rebellion really does? Collect old artifacts?” A pause, his face turned a little bit more serious. “Or maybe you’re just a thief. I just want to know whether saving your life was a waste or not.” 

The man was right, of course. Apparently the rebels didn’t do what Lihan was doing very often, so the impression he was giving wasn’t one of the best, probably. He owed at least some explanations to the stranger who had just saved his life.

“My name is Lihan Smokeblade. I’m part of the rebellion. The dead have attacked one of our men and I have been sent here to retrieve these… Stones,” He pointed at the jute bag on his hip “so that we can try to heal him.” Even though he was being threatened by a fire-wielding mage, he couldn’t help but throw some sarcasm back.

“That enough for you?”

The answer he got was a light frown. “If he was bitten, there shouldn’t be any hope.”

“There’s no harm in trying.”

“There could have been.” The mage pointed at the corpses on the floor.  _ Smartass. _

“Are you gonna tell me who you are and let me go or are we gonna stand here all day?” Lihan was getting impatient. 

“Alright, alright, don’t let me keep you from saving lives.” Another cocked eyebrow, a small eye roll. “I’m Dhante. Nice last name. I prefer avoiding those kinds of mixtures of words, they’re for bastards.” 

Lihan had no time to correct him, so he ignored his remark. “Nice to meet you, can I go now?” He eyed the wooden staff explicatively and took a step forward.

Dhante lifted a hand. “Wait. If you really are a rebel, I’m coming with you. I want to join you.” 

“Great. Let’s go.” And with that, he was already halfway through the hall, heading for the entrance, with the fire mage right on his tail. Once outside, Lihan quickly jumped on his horse, then noticing the other looking up at him. 

“Well, this is gonna be awkward.” Dhante stated. In the light of day, Lihan noticed that both his eyes and hair were not black, but rather of a deep, rich and earthly shade of brown. He was lighly startled at first, then puzzled. “Why would that be?”

“I don’t have a horse.” 

Lihan sighed. “Get on.” The mage rode in the saddle right behind him, his hands set awkwardly on Lihan’s sides.

As they made their way back to the castle, the sky let out a big, roaring thunder. Seconds later, heavy rain poured down on them, soaking them in a matter of minutes. Dhante cursed under his breath.

They were almost at the cliff when Lihan knew something was wrong. 

“Nice castle.” Commented the mage. “Shouldn’t it be somewhat hidden, though?”

Lihan looked straight ahead at the now completely visible hideout. “It should be.” 

The horse galloped even faster in the mud as they covered the distance. Once at the castle, Lihan saw the open gate and ground his teeth. “I’m getting the feeling this shouldn’t be happening.” Another comment from the mage. “Right?”

The rebel hopped off the horse, followed by the other. He immediately drew his swords. “I’d get ready to fight, if I were you.” They ran to the main door, only to find out all hell had broken loose inside. Clanging of swords and groans of fighting men and women echoed in the hall, while screams could be heard coming from the Mage’s Tower and the rooms upstairs. Lihan and Dhante stormed in, the first spotting Laki a few meters ahead, sparring for his life against a rather burly, undead member of the King’s Lions. Rapidly jumping over the table, Lihan and leapt through the air, swords at the ready; he landed behind the soldier and twirled his blades, slashing the corpse’s legs at the base of both calves, causing it to drop down with a loud metallic sound. Then, he shoved his swords where the helmet met the chestplate and separated the head from the body in a clean swipe. He looked up at Laki, who was heavily panting. “What happened?!” 

His fellow rebel looked terrified. “They attacked us… A patrol from the queen… They’re… Controlled…” 

Lihan grunted. “Find Narth, we need to get everyone who’s still alive and run.” Then, he turned to Dhante. “You’re coming with me.” He nodded back.

Together, the swordsman and the warlock ran through the entire main hall, helping whichever rebel was having a hard time fighting fully armored soldiers. Lihan was quick enough to deal with them, but when two undead of the queen approached them, Dhante was quicker. He stepped forward lightly and began spinning his staff rapidly. Lihan watched in awe as the wooden tip quickly caught fire, creating an actual whirlwind of flames until the mage finally flung the staff in a swipe to the right, making an horizontal blade of fire just like the one he had used back at the temple. The searing flames hit the two corpses right in the head, where they melted their helmets in, their metals seeping into their rotting skulls, killing them instantly. 

Dhante turned back with a huff. Lihan nodded. Then, he headed towards the Tower. On the stairs, an undead rebel almost fell on him.

“Watch out!” He heard the fire mage behind him yell. Before the corpse could attack him, he quickly lifted his sword, impaling it right between the eyes, the head sliding all the way down to the hilt. With a groan, Lihan tossed the dead woman to a side, letting her fall down the stairwell, accompanied by loud thumps, albeit covered by the sounds of people still fighting upstairs. The road to the sanatorium was full of rebels fighting other rebels or soldiers of the queen. Lihan and Dhante helped where they could, slashing and burning their way open through robe-wearing, undead rebel mages as well. They had probably gotten attacked first, that was why the spell disguising the castle was gone. But that meant the siege had begun from the inside, but how?

The sanatorium door slammed open under Lihan’s weight. There were a few corpses against the entrance, as if to block it from anyone else coming in; they soon enough found out why. A blood-covered, heavy breathing Narth stood towards the end of the room, wielding the same saw Lihan had seen him use earlier, slowly backing off from a group of groaning undead. On the floor next to him was the lifeless husk of Haef, with an open wound on the side of his head. Lihan was about to attack, but Dhante stopped him. “I got this.” He stepped forward and raised a hand, quickly flying it around the tip of his staff, which began emitting sparks, until the mage was effectively holding a ball of fire in his hand. Dhante threw it in the air and it split into various, smaller firebolts. Finally, he abruptly extended his free hand forward and the flames flew, hitting each and every corpse right in the back of the head. A few moments and they were all lifeless on the ground, smoke coming out of the wounds. Narth was holding the saw ahead of himself, visibly shaking. Lihan ran to him. 

“What happened?! Who did this?!”

Through sobs and tremors, the ginger man spoke: “Haef… He turned… He bit Master Julion… And then he turned too…. He killed the mages…. And then they all stormed the gates….. It’s my fault…. I wasn’t here……” 

Lihan cursed. “Narth, listen to me. We need to get out of here. Laki is taking everyone who’s still alive outside the gates. We need to go!” Then, he basically had to pull him away from the wall and out of the room. As he carried him back downstairs, Dhante walked ahead of them, taking care of whoever tried to attack them. They were on the doorway to the courtyard, when they met Laki. 

“Is he alright?!” 

“He’ll be fine, let’s go!” 

“I need to close the door!”

“Laki, there’s no time!”

“They’ll follow us if I don’t! Just go, I’ll take care of it!”

“Damn it Laki, you’ll get killed!” Lihan roared, while Dhante grabbed Narth and carried him outside the gate. No use: Laki was already closing one of the two massive doors. Lihan couldn’t leave him there. He took a hold of the other, pulling the wooden giant back until it was almost fully closed. The other rebel was a bit behind. “ _ COME ON!” _ He yelled, running to help him, but before he could get to him, the undead version of a familiar bald head poked out of the opening, going straight for Laki’s exposed arm, biting on it, ripping a big chunk of flesh from it. 

The man screamed in pain and terror, the sound filling the whole courtyard along with Lihan’s ears. A sword to the skull prevented the revived Chulain to eat more of Laki’s flesh. With his now lifeless body stuck between the two doors, no one could do the same he had done. The rebel was bleeding out, staring ahead in shock, his knees having given away much earlier, as he now sat on the stone floor. In another situation, Lihan would’ve left him there, but he remembered the stones he still had in the bag on his belt. He quickly sheathed his swords and then, with all of the strength he had in his body, lifted the much larger and heavier man from the floor and slowly carried him all the way out of the courtyard, where a group of barely twenty people including Dhante, Fharall Steelbear and Narth was. The ginger man’s first reaction upon seeing Laki was to scream in terror, immediately running to him. Lihan set him on the ground and began fumbling with the jute bag, trying to take the artifacts out. 

“What are you doing?” Fharall asked, blood on his armor and hair. 

Lihan didn’t even look at him to answer. “Master Julion sent me to get these, he said they could heal the bite.” The stones were out. He got them closer to the wound on Laki’s arm. 

“Uh…” Dhante said, staring at the door to the main hall. 

“What?!” 

“They’re getting out.”

Hands were poking out of the opening, all around Chulain’s body, trying to push the doors open. Even following the queen’s orders, they were pretty stupid.

Lihan only glanced at them, immediately going back to the stones.

Only the Rebel Chief spoke.

“Burn it.”

Dhante’s eyes widened. “What?!”

“Burn it all.”

Something in the dark grey eyes of the man told the mage he was completely serious. Why wouldn’t he have been? The warlock slowly stepped forward, staff in his hand. He didn’t even know the place and he was already burning it down. 

_ What a day. _

Flames burst out of the wood as usual, flying rapidly towards the door to the castle like cannonballs. The whole thing was ablaze in a matter of minutes. 

“It’s not working…” Narth murmured, glaring at Lihan. “ _ IT’S NOT WORKING!” _

Fharall kneeled down next to him, handing him a dagger. “Those aren’t healing artifacts.” He said calmly. Lihan looked down at the hilt of the weapon, incredulous.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know what the old man had read, but that’s not what you were looking for.” 

The rebel looked up at him.

“What are they, then?”

Steelbear sighed. He grabbed the dagger himself and shoved it into the back of Laki’s head. Narth cried out. 

“Get up. We need to go to the hideout in Narthe.”

Lihan obliged, his gaze fixated on the older man. “What-- What are you saying?!”

“We need a new home.” He glanced at the burning castle. Chunks of rocks were already falling down in the courtyard. Men and women in the group were crying, bawling at the sight of their home being destroyed. 

“Fhar--” Lihan corrected himself. “ _ Mylord, _ what are these stones?! If not healing artifacts, what are they for?!”

“I’ve seen them only once before, in an old book.” The King of the Cliffs said.

“They’re dragon eggs.”

 

**_((To be continued.))_ **


	5. 8x05 - King and Queen of the North

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This might be a bit shorter but I hope you enjoy it!

The snow crackled as heavy boots landed on it, creating footprints that would have soon been covered by the incoming blizzard. The darkness had covered the group like a cloak in a motherly embrace as they had made their way through the forest of tall, silent trees, even the horses they had ridden not uttering a single neigh, almost as if they were pervaded by the same fear of being discovered their masters felt. Even though a few stray snowflakes were already falling, time seemed to stand still, lying in wait -or perhaps fear- of whatever lurked in the night. Men were looking around, hands on the hilt of their swords, ears perked up to hear any revealing noise. It seemed odd that they had attracted no undead, controlled or not, but maybe they had just been lucky. The man ahead of the group stopped glancing around at the still forest and proceeded instead to look up and ahead, where a stone tower stood just about fifty feet tall, barely enough for the top to reach above the high treetops. It had been made with large stones and strong clay, common in the north of Tha’Kari, and it was hidden enough not to be found, in enough disrepair to look abandoned.

It was perfect, but it was dangerous, yet their scouts had already cleared the place of any remaining corpses and informed the rest of the group of the large underground dungeon in which all sixty-seven men and women could have been accommodated. The man in the front removed the dark hood of the cape he was wearing. One of his subordinates stepped closer. 

“Mylord,” He whispered obsequiously “everything’s ready.”

“Good.” Kalel Reinar replied, careful not to be too loud, dark, curly hair softly waving on his forehead as he nodded. “Take the horses somewhere safe and hidden. They can’t be seen.”

“Of course.” The servant bowed, leaving him.

The former king walked up the tall steps to the door of the tower and pushed it open. It creaked under his weight, until it swung on its hinges, leaving the Reinar heir to meet a large, mostly empty, circular room. A spiraling set of stairs climbed the walls up to the top of the tower, while a straight one in the center led down to the dungeons. But the first thing to really hit him was the smell of death and feces hovering in the place. 

“You might want to leave the door open, mylord.” A man emerging from lower level stated, before bowing lightly. One of the scouts. 

Kalel took a sharp breath, regretting it immediately. He knew men shit themselves when they died, but he wasn’t ready for the absolute massacre that was the only recently cleared hideout. Stepping forward, he promised himself to only breathe through his mouth for a while. The scout lead him down the stairs and into the dimly lit corridors of the dungeon, until he stopped in front of a closed door. “The main quarters, mylord.” That room was where he’d have been ruling his own small kingdom from. He left the man outside, opening the door.

Inside, the light from a large fireplace illuminated the rectangular table in the middle of the room. There wasn’t much else decorating the place, except for a couple of wooden cabinets which could have been used for storage. But the young Reinar wasn’t alone in the room: three other people stood around the table with serious expressions, looking down at a full map of Tha’Kari. All of them turned their heads to look up at him, when they heard him come in. The first one was a mature woman, with brown hair and dark eyes, circled by a few deep wrinkles. Her padded leather attire suggested she was one of the scouts and her overall demeanor told Kalel she was probably their leader, whom he had never met in person. The second one of his soon to be counselors was an elderly man who seemed barely able to stand on his own, his scrawny and bent legs almost trembling underneath his thick tunic. Between white hair and a vaporous beard, pale green eyes gazed at him in respect. Finally, the third one was a young man, probably the tallest Reinar had ever seen, standing way above the other two and rather big in size. His intimidating frame was clad in heavy steel armor, decorated with serpentine and spiral patterns along with fur on his shoulders, waist and legs. His weapon matched everything else, it being a greatsword apparently as tall as the woman next to him and large as Kalel’s leg, tightly strapped onto his back. Looking even more upward, the young king met the man’s deep blue eyes and noticed his fair hair and full beard, thick eyebrows and straight but wide nose. Rather daunted, the shorter man averted his eyes, looking back down. It was time someone said something; the woman was the first.

“Mylord, this is Master Hreloth,” She said, extending a hand towards the old man, who bowed his head “I’m Thara Frevve, leader of the scouting operation, as you might already know, and this” She finally aimed a thumb towards the giant behind her “this is Gadrael, of house Magnusar. He joined our cause earlier this month and helped us clear the dungeons. He will bend the knee to serve you, if you will have him.”

“Very well.” Kalel Reinar said obsequiously as he stepped towards the table, taking his leather gloves off and setting them down on it. Hands resting on the cold stone, he looked over at his Council. 

“Shall we begin?”

 

**_\--------_ **

 

Lihan’s ears only adjusted to the rhythmic, soothing crashing on the waves against the sides of the ship when he finally stepped onto the open bridge, at about the same time his feet found balance on the constantly rocking motion of the wood beneath them. With his gaze set on the darkness of the horizon, where he could not distinguish black sea from starry sky, he let his tired limbs move by themselves, not really planning any step he took. His mind felt so distant from his body, as if it had been flying miles above the ship he was slowly making his way to Narthe on; and yet, this didn’t hinder his thoughts from replaying the burning castle on the cliff over and over, accompanied by the grunts and groans of the dead, poor Chulain’s corpse moving without his consent as he ripped the flesh off Laki’s arm, sentencing him to die a terrible death. 

And he hadn’t been able to do anything. The stones he had been sent out to retrieve weren’t the artifact they thought they were, making his mission utterly pointless. He had ventured out alone, leaving the rebel hideout with one man less to defend it. If he’d been there, maybe the attack would have been stopped right away. Not that he considered the other rebels completely unable to take care of themselves, but perhaps one more pair of eyes could’ve prevented the deaths of dozens of people. Haef would still be gone, but… 

“May I?” 

Lihan was taken aback. Suddenly, he was on the ship once again. He hadn’t even noticed he had sat down on the stairs leading up to the wheel, where one of the rebels who had managed to escape with them through a secret path behind the cliff, was steering the course of their voyage. But it hadn’t been him to speak. Behind Lihan, a few steps higher, stood a figure clad in a dark blue mage robe, a long, wooden staff poking out from behind his shoulder. Dhante.

As a response, Lihan lightly shook his head, scooting over to a side to make room for the warlock, who plopped himself down next to him. A few seconds of silence ensued, until the Welosi mage spoke, sounding rather unsure of his words, compared to when they had first met. “How’s Narth?” He asked, furrowing his eyebrows ever so slightly.

“I don’t know yet.” Replied Lihan, looking straight ahead. “I was planning on going down to his room later, to check in on him.”

“He looked...  Pretty shaken.” Dhante continued. 

“No shit.” Lihan let himself be more vulgar than usual. “He lost everything.” And then he heard the mage shift, feeling his weight moving on the wooden stairs as he circled his own knees with his arms, intertwining his hands in the middle. 

“You all did. I’m sorry.” He spoke with an even softer tone, as if he’d been afraid of being heard, which made Lihan speculate on his probable inability to apologize, as he maybe wasn’t used to doing it. Still, he had nothing to be sorry for.

“It wasn’t your fault.” 

The other man fell silent. He knew he was right. “How are you holding up?” Dhante then asked, turning his head towards the rebel, who avoided eye contact.

“I’m fine.” 

To that, the warlock didn’t really know how to reply. Feeling the situation turn slightly awkward and staring down at his hands, he realized how fidgety he was starting to get, thumbs stroking together in an attempt to keep at least one part of his body moving. He moved again, extending his legs as he fished something from his pocket: a long, narrow, wooden pipe. Lihan observed as the mage in the corner of his eye rummaged through a small bag he had attached to his belt, grabbing a handful of brown, dried up leaves. Dhante pressed them in his free hand until they were mere shreds and finally let them fall down into the far end of his pipe; a snap of his fingers lit a small flame on the tip of his thumb, which he quickly brought to the wooden item in his mouth. Smoke lifted up from it moments later as he took a draw and then slowly puffed out more. Dhante handed the pipe to Lihan.

“Want some?”

Smokeblade glanced down at the object, then up at the mage. “No, thanks.” He stood up. “I’m gonna look for Steelbear. I’ve got a few questions for him.” 

The firemancer pressed his lips together, looking slightly disappointed. Perhaps the other man didn’t like smoking. Then, he nodded imperceptibly. “Alright. See you around.” And with that, he went back to breathing in through his pipe, as he watched Lihan walk away.

 

It didn’t take Lihan long to find the main quarters in the stern of the vessel. They were really just a few steps away from the stairs that led into the bowels of the ship. The door wasn’t much different from the others, made of wood and iron, studs poking out on its whole surface. Lihan laid his hand on the handle, a heavy looking iron ring on his right, but hesitated. In the dancing light of the two lanterns on the wall, the rebel stood still for a few seconds, trying to put his thoughts back into an order that made some sort of sense. He didn’t want to zone out again while talking to his chief. Finally, he knocked onto the hard wood of the door. There were a few instants of silence. Then, steps. 

Fharall Steelbear opened the door with an exhausted look on his face. Understandable. 

“Smokeblade, it’s you.” The man said in a low tone, accentuating just how tired he must have been. “Come in.” The two men made their way into the room, which must have been at least half of what the chief’s quarters were at the castle in Kar, though he seemed not to care. Lihan eyed the basic decor, not really paying attention to anything except for the desk near the back window. On it were only a small number of things, but they all caught Lihan’s eye: a few scrolls, some blank, some partially written, four metal cages with as many dark feathered ravens softly cawing inside, and finally the jute bag he had handed over a few hours prior. 

“May I help you in any way?” Steelbear asked, sitting back behind his desk.

“I just wanted to have a word with you, mylord. We haven’t really had the chance to speak, since we left Kar.” Lihan paused, glancing at the scrolls once again. “If you’re not too busy, that is.”

Fharall followed his gaze, understood, then half-smiled. “Don’t worry. I was writing to the other chiefs in the other lands. Mainly to our stronghold up in Narthe. To inform them of the attack and of our arrival.” As he spoke, he moved the quill to a side. “What did you want to talk about?”

Smokeblade inched closer, looking down at the jute bag. “You… You said these are dragon eggs.” And saying so, he placed his hands down on the hard mounds beneath the fabric of the bag.

A nod. “Correct.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve read about them, as I said. I knew what they looked like from an old illustration.”

Lihan frowned lightly. “What else do you know about them?”

The rebel chief sighed. “Not much, I’m afraid. But I know of someone who might have more knowledge than me.”

The questioning look on Lihan’s face edged him to continue.

“I’ve heard of a wise master in Narthe, who spent many years researching old myths and legends. He might know a thing or two about dragons as well.” 

“How do we know if he’s still alive and where to find him?”

“If I heard of him, he must have been in Jorgr. In any case, the rebels in Narthe know about most things that happen around them, they’ll know where to find him.”

Lihan fell silent.  _ Jorgr. _ The capital. His old home. How long had it been? More than a year now. He couldn’t help but wonder, and yet he stopped his thoughts in their tracks. “Where’s Narth’s room? I planned on paying a visit.” He asked. 

Steelbear had picked up his quill again, eyes down on the paper. 

“Downstairs, first door on the right.”

Lihan glanced at the eggs one last time before he left. “Thank you, mylord.”

 

The bedchamber was exactly as small as he’d imagined. Hosting barely the single bed and a narrow dresser, it was also only illuminated by a candle on the wall, just next to the door. Narth laid motionless, face up, ginger hair sticking to his forehead with sweat as he breathed hardly and sharply. A nightmare. 

Lihan found a tiny place on the side of the mattress, on which he sat, looking down at the other rebel with a bleak stare. Would it really have been different, if he had not left in search of the artifact? Would it have been Laki the one to sit next to an awake and cackling Narth, while Chulain helped above deck? Would they have been on that ship in the first place, heading out to an even more inhospitable and cold land? 

Not knowing gnawed at Lihan’s insides, along with regret and the everlasting feeling of guilt. Then, one thought: it would have never happened, had he stayed on his own in the woods.

 

**_\--------_ **

 

They landed on a coast similar to the one the slave boat had left from what seemed like so long before. Though the rocky sand and the wind were almost the same, the beach was rather secluded, hidden by tall cliffs onto which the icy water crashed again and again, corroding it until nothing would have been left. 

“C’mon, move yer arse!” A voice yelled behind him, and Lihan stepped off the wooden plank connecting the ship to a shabby dock. He had been zoning out again, but he shook it off, only considering it a side effect of not sleeping at all for the past couple of nights. Eyeing the beach ahead of him, he saw a stumbling Narth, struggling to keep pace with the rebel chief in front of the group. Lihan had been staying next to the ginger man all day and all night, tending to his needs and avoiding his own nightmares, as he recovered -albeit not fully- from the traumatic experience. 

Small backpack on his shoulder, Lihan was making his way across the beach with the others, heading towards a cave which presumably connected the sea with the land above, when he was approached by the unfamiliar smell of pipe smoke. 

“Good morning.” Dhante nodded lightly in his direction as he walked by his side, pipe between his lips, thin layers of fume rising above, caressing his forehead and wavy hair. Even though they were in the north and it the sky wasn’t completely clear from clouds, the light shone down on them way more than it did when they had first met, and Lihan noticed the freckles sprinkling his sunkissed skin, and that the warlock’s eyes were actually of a rich, earthly brown, just like his hair, or like the colour of the ground after a heavy rain.

“Hello.” Lihan replied, sounding groggier than he’d expected. 

Dhante arched an eyebrow. “Slept too much?” 

“I didn’t sleep at all.” 

This caused the Welosi man to smirk. “Damn, who kept you up?” 

It took a few moments for Lihan to catch onto what he was saying, but when he did, he glared at him. “I took care of Narth.” 

Like a five year old kid, Dhante chuckled. “Is that why he’s walking so funny?”

Smokeblade rolled his eyes and grunted, quickening his pace to distance himself from the mage, who stopped on his tracks. 

“Hey!” He hollered. “I didn’t mean to offend you!” But he got no response.

 

Lihan’s breath was slightly hitched when he finally reached Fharall and Narth in the head of the group. The second one must had noticed it, because, in a soft tone, he commented:  “You walk too fast, mylord.” 

The rebel chief didn’t turn around. “We’re on foot and our supplies are limited. We must make it to the northern hideout before the next snowfall. Luckily, the sun shines on us today.” 

“He’s right.” Lihan stated, then turning his head to the other rebel. “But are you sure you can keep up?” 

Narth nodded. “If I don’t, I’ll just slow down a bit and walk with the rest of the group. I’m fine, really.” He was smiling, though tiredly. 

Steelbear warned them when they entered the cave, as the high tide often made the stone floor slippery, so Lihan offered himself to help Narth once again. It was pitch black in there, but the chief had lit up a torch and was leading the way. As they finally reached the top and they waited a little while for the rest of the group to catch up, Lihan noticed Dhante walking up the steep ground with an arm around the waist of an elderly woman with an injured leg, while his other hand carried his staff, which served as both steady support and a torch, as the tip was inflamed by his magic. 

It was rather endearing to see a man who just a few minutes earlier didn’t seem capable of empathy and only liked making fun of people who suffered actually helping the weaker; it made Lihan rethink his view of the mage just as had happened on the first night on the ship. After all, he had helped the rebels before, he certainly wasn’t completely heartless. 

 

Narth approached Lihan again when the group was making its way through the thick forest and the heavy snow. “You’d better get some shuteye as soon as we stop.” 

The man kept walking. “I’m fine.” 

“Lihan,” Narth gripped his shoulder, weakly. “I know you’ve been watching over me for the past few days. I thank you for that. But if you’re too tired and we get ambushed, you won’t be any good at defending anyone.” 

Those words hit way deeper than Lihan would have expected. It was like something in him had taken great offense, while the rest of him knew Narth was absolutely right. 

He looked the man right in the eyes. “We haven’t stopped yet.” He left Narth in the middle of the group as he sprinted ahead, also leaving him with the uncertainty of having him convinced or not. 

 

The more they marched, the more everything seemed to look exactly the same, all around them. Sturdy trees holding copious amounts of snow and pristine stretches of white repeated themselves over and over again every mile, or so it felt. 

The rebels were hungry, weary, cold, and alert. No threat had been popping out of the stillness of the forest, but it only lead them to believe a horde of corpses was more probable every second, making them increasingly anxious as they walked, hands on sword hilts, accompanied only by the sound of crackling snow. 

Lihan moved alone. He had left the head of the group much earlier, and didn’t really feel like going back to Dhante. Everyone else was silent, he felt no need to fill his ears with the mage’s vain jokes. The Welosi probably knew better than to make noise anyway. Even while moving as a group, fear was greater than the will to bond. 

And with their slow, regular pace and silence, they were starting to look like the walking cadavers they would have become, had they died in that cold. 

But the quiet was broken. Lihan almost bumped into the man who was walking ahead of him. He had stopped. Why? Lihan raised his gaze. Everyone had stopped. 

So he ran. He sprinted all the way to the man in the lead, pushing and urging to get to Fharall Steelbear. When he finally did, he stopped in his tracks, seeing that him and Narth were standing still like the others, staring ahead; when he followed their looks, he felt his heart drop. 

The woods opened abruptly into a clearing, where the snowflakes falling from the sky were much more visible. Tiny, flickering fractals of ice danced their way down to join more of their kind upon roofs of stone and wood, stairs, fences, doorways, windowsills. 

A ghost town stood in front of them, completely devoid of any form of life. 

“We’ll spend the night here.” Lihan could  _ hear _ the reluctance in Fharall’s words as if the rebel chief had directly poured bitter poison in his ears. 

“Smokeblade, fire mage, come with me. We need to make sure the houses are clear.”  Then, the man began walking forward, unsheathing his sword from his belt. Lihan followed, soon reached by Dhante. The houses were all empty, the fireplaces were long extinguished, but the tables were still set for a dinner that had never come.

“Maybe they all fled because of a horde.” The warlock tried to suggest as the trio  made its way to a small shack on the edge of the forest. Lihan wanted to believe him.

“I’m afraid that’s not the case.” Steelbear replied coldly.

The shack they were about to investigate had a raised foundation, with a small set of stone steps leading to the front door. On the bottom one, the unmistakable dark tint of dried up blood circled the head of a woman’s body like a tainted halo. 

“If they did, she was left behind.” 

Dhante observed the scene. “She didn’t turn because she hit her head?”

Lihan nodded in silence. 

“Shouldn’t we do something about her?”

“We’ll bury her once we clear the rest of the village.” With that, Steelbear was already about to go up the stairs, when the body on the ground jolted lightly, with the sound of cracking ice. The rebel chief immediately hopped back, sword ready, the other two men bracing themselves for a fight as well. 

“I thought she hadn’t turned!” The mage exclaimed, aiming the sharper edge of his staff at the corpse, which was shaking again. 

“Maybe she’s not dead.” Lihan suggested, stepping closer, curious. 

The King of the Cliff stopped him. “I’ll do it.” He carefully knelt next to the dead body, inspecting it. It was moving sporadically, as if hit by random coughing fits. And yet, everything about it told them the woman was dead, frozen solid by the exposure to the weather. Steelbear was inches from the woman.

_ Crack. _

With the sound of shattering ice, the back of the body burst open like a broken egg. The small, blood-covered, frozen hand that came out of it extending towards the man’s hand, clawing towards it as he rapidly sprung backwards, landing onto his rear with a painful sounding thud. Fharall stared at the barely escaped dead limb with horror, as it attempted to grab fistfuls of nothing, grasping only snow in the process. 

“What the fuck…” Murmured Dhante.

Hearing another voice, or perhaps smelling another scent, the corpse inside the woman stopped, and the hand retreated. It was a matter of moments until the body moved again, this time slowly but surely rolling to the side, until it had revealed what was really hiding underneath it.

A small girl, all skin and bones, dressed in frozen rags, had died of hunger and cold in the arms of her already passed mother, who had not turned. The void, white eyes of the little girl stared up at the mage and the rebel, while she weakly tried to get up, to get at them. Lihan only noticed how the skin of her cheek had attached to her mother’s chest with the cold when the child finally got up, taking a big chunk of the woman’s flesh with her. She barely stood on her skinny, starved legs, arms reaching out for warm blood, for the nourishment she had not received in life. 

Lihan shoved the blade of his sword right between her eyes. 

He only began breathing again when she fell, finally at peace. 

The rebel turned to Dhante and, for a split second, he could’ve sworn he saw a hint of something in his eyes, something that went far beyond common sadness, or even pity.

But it was gone a mere instant later, when he broke the silence himself. 

“I’m burying them now.” 

 

When Lihan walked out of the last house with Fharall, he immediately spotted the smoke. Then, he smelled the burning flesh. Finally, he saw the pyre. 

“You should talk to him.” Steelbear commented. 

The rebel nodded. “I’ll do it as soon as we’re all ready for the night.” 

His chief coughed a little. “Taking care of others is admirable, Smokeblade. Just don’t lose your friends while trying to protect everyone else.” With that, he was gone, headed towards the small inn they had cleared before. 

 

When they all settled into the empty village for the night, Lihan had lost track of Dhante.

Late, that night, as he laid into a bed which had probably been occupied up until a few days prior, he heard a door open -not so quietly- in the hallway outside. He sprung up from the mattress, bare feet hitting the floorboards with a soft creaking sound. His sword resting against the bedside caught his eye, but he decided against taking it with him; if it was Dhante outside, he wouldn’t have needed it. Lihan rushed to the door and opened it, stepping into the corridor and surprisingly finding it empty. He furrowed his eyebrows. 

Maybe he had heard someone entering a room, rather than exiting it. He was about to go back to his feeble attempt to sleep, when he heard something coming from the stairs heading down. The sound of squeaking wood underneath the weight of someone ascending or descending the steps. Quick feet approached the staircase; nothing. Whoever it was, they were already on the bottom floor. Lihan followed the noise. The hall of the inn had a square fireplace in the center, which was the only source of light and warmth in the room. The person Lihan was pursuing stood between the flames and the stairs when he got there, though being on the way out the door, and the backlight made it harder to recognize who it was.

“Dhante?” Lihan murmured. 

The figure turned around. Wrapped in his fur coat, long dark hair let down free, sweat pearling his pale forehead and running all the way down through his beard, stood Fharall Steelbear. The sickly-looking King of the Cliff seemed unpleasantly surprised to see Lihan; almost…  _ Scared. _

“Oh, it’s you, mylord.” Smokeblade said, with a small nod. 

“Yes, I was just...” He didn’t finish.

The younger man edged closer, only then noticing just how much paler he looked.

“Are you alright, sir?” He asked, rather worried.

“Of course.” Fharall seemed to swallow a thick lump in his throat, but that caused a strong coughing fit, which soon had him bent at the stomach, gloved hand closed into a fist in front of his mouth, eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed. 

Lihan hurried to his side. “Mylord?! Shall I call Narth?” 

_ “No!” _ The other’s roaring voice echoed in the empty hall. He turned his head to face Lihan, but he wasn’t looking at him; his eyes were fixated onto the dark substance coating the black leather of his gauntlet. 

“Smokeblade…” Fharall’s call sounded more like a pleading, than a cry for help. And as he raised his head, he slowly pulled a glove off, exposing his hand, where a single, small, red, pulsating cut stood out against his milky skin, rendered even more translucent by the illness.

The little girl had gotten him.

Lihan felt his world crash into pieces. The rebel chief of Kar was about to die in front of him. No one would have been able to guide the others to the allies in Narthe. They were all dead. Gone. Soon-to-be pawns in the White Queen’s plans. 

And all because of a small cut. 

The gut-wrenching feeling of hopelessness went from his stomach to his head, making him dizzy. 

“Smokeblade, listen to me.” Steelbear was talking to him, a hand on his arm. “Listen to me. Take this.” There was something in his hand. Cold. Shiny. Sharp. A dagger.

The rebel could only shake his head, eyes barren and blank.

“You have to do it, Lihan.” The older man had blood streaming down his chin. 

Lihan closed his fingers onto the grip of the weapon. 

“I’m-- I’m no king.” A rasp. “I’m just-- A farmer-- It’s up to you, now.”

Lihan stared at him, confused, eyes darting from the other’s to the injury and back. 

“In my room, there’s a letter. I’m leaving the title of chief to--” He coughed, blood splattering over the rebel’s chest and down onto the floor. “--to you. You’re the King of the Cliffs now, Lihan. You need to guide them. You need--” Crimson liquid was now dripping onto their feet. “--to save them. Save them all.” 

Lihan felt the man’s weight fall on him, and with all of his strength, he managed to set him down on the floor, facing upwards where, if left like that, he would have suffocated. But Lihan knew that wouldn’t have happened. 

Knelt next to him, cradling his head in his free, though trembling hand, he held the dagger with the other.

Digging the blade in his skull was as quick as picking a flower.

 

It was a restless sleep, the one Dhante was brought out of. The images of the frozen undead girl, followed by her body burning in his own magic fire had haunted him all night, forcing him to toss and turn in a bed too cold for his liking, while lifeless, white eyes stared at him from the darkness, surrounded by twirling snowflakes. He had once heard of a goddess with the same eyes, the same cold, dead heart of ice, the very opposite of the source of his magic. And the thought of her irrationally terrified him, as the gaunt visage of a common little girl shifted into the one of a beautiful mistress of cold, calling him, driving him towards her eternal winterly embrace, while his heart beat fast in his chest, until it slowed down to a soft, muffled thudding in the darkness.

The firemancer opened his eyes, his gaze meeting the ceiling of his room. The thudding persisted, and it took him a while to understand it was actually someone knocking on his door. Instinctively, he looked out the window: it was still dark outside, it couldn’t have been time to go already, and he remembered nothing about being asked to be on guard duty. Nonetheless, he got up, wore the boots he had left on the floor, wrapped his robe around his now shivering torso, and went to answer. 

As he opened the door, the dim light from the braziers in the corridor flooded the room, casting the shadow of the man who stood in the doorway.

A shaking, wide eyed, blood-covered Lihan. 

Dhante was shocked. “Lihan? What happened?”

“Come with me, please.” The other responded, causing the warlock to take a second look at the liquid staining his leather armor. 

“Whose blood is that?” He asked, trying to sound calm and collected.

A pause. He didn’t look armed. 

“Fharall’s.”

“Alright.” Dhante took a small breath. “Did you kill him?” 

“He was dying.” No hesitation, this time. “That little girl… She cut him. He was sick.”

The mage blinked, the child’s face flashing behind his eyelids. “Where’s his body?”

“Downstairs.” 

“Take me to him.” 

Obviously Lihan didn’t expect him to just follow him blindly. As the other rebel stepped away from the door and began heading for the staircase, Dhante made a quick decision: if he was lying, he’d have torched the motherfucker. 

 

But as planned, they got downstairs. Dhante saw the body. Before examining it, he looked around. No visible weapons, except for the blood-stained dagger next to Fharall. “Stand over there.” He commanded Lihan, pointing at a corner of the hall where he had no escapes and where he could see him. The man obliged, which still didn’t reassure the mage. 

When he knelt near the corpse, the first thing he saw was that his expression wasn’t a pained one. He definitely hadn’t gone down in a fight, but that didn’t exclude the possibility of a stealth kill even though, from what Dhante had seen, Lihan couldn’t even enter an abandoned temple without awakening the dead. 

The warlock moved his gaze down to Steelbear’s bare hand, noticing the cut. It was just as Smokeblade had said: it looked exactly like many injuries he had seen before, from people who had been bitten, or scratched. 

He still had one question.

“Why here?” 

From his corner, Lihan replied immediately. “I think he wanted to go in the forest, do it himself.” He looked down at the body. “He said there’s a letter, in his room.”

“A suicide note?”

Lihan nodded.

“Let’s see it, then.”

 

The walk up to the former chief’s room was silent. The secret of his death kept deep inside the only two who knew about it, for now. 

The room was very similar to the others, the place being an inn and all, but the only difference seemed, as Lihan brought one of the candles from the outside, a small piece of paper resting on the dresser, closed and sealed with dark green wax complete with an unfamiliar sigil. Lihan picked it up, turning on his heels to show it to Dhante. 

“This is it?”

“Yes.”

“How can we know it’s really from him?”

“Let me see the sigil.” Neither of them had spoken; it was a voice coming from the doorway. And as the first lights of a bleak dawn flooded the room, the mage and the rebel spotted a  mane of ginger hair.

Narth made his way across the room to them, hand extended towards the letter. 

Lihan hesitated. “How much do you know?” 

The other man showed his other hand, which was holding his dagger. 

“Enough to know that you walking out of here alive depends heavily on what’s written in there. Give it to me.” 

He was right to doubt them. Lihan handed the letter over and Narth inspected it up close. “It is Steelbear’s sigil, but someone could have falsified it.” With a quick, precise motion, he slit the wax open. His pale blue eyes ran across the written words fast for a few seconds, until he was finished, handing the parchment back to Lihan.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” He arched an eyebrow. “ _ Mylord.” _

So it was true. Lihan looked down at the ink.

 

_ To whom might find this, in the morning. _

_ I, Fharall Steelbear, King of the Cliffs and of the Great Forests, Rebel Chief of Kar, am dying. As I settled into my room tonight, I discovered I had been scratched by one of the undead I fought in the process of clearing the village. I believe I don’t have much time left, which leaves me with a difficult decision to make.  _

_ I have to leave you all, before it’s too late. _

_ I’ll walk into the forest and proceed to end my own life, before I die of the sickness and I turn into a danger for all of you. Even in death, I couldn’t stand to hurt any of you.  _

_ As my passing approaches, I need to address the matter of my successor, before my conscience leaves me completely.  _

_ Some may see this decision as foolish, rushed, maybe even useless, but it is my will. My last wish. _

_ I leave my title to Lihan Smokeblade. You are, from now on, to address him as your lord, as he possesses all of the names I was called in life.  _

_ I leave you with the hope that you’ll respect my decision.  _

_ May you fulfill our mission.  _

 

_ Fharall Steelbear _

 

“It’s his writing.” Narth stated. “His signature and everything.” 

Dhante had just finished reading the whole thing. “So you’re the chief now?”

“Apparently.” Replied the ginger man. “The sun is rising, people are gonna wake up soon. Lihan, you find somewhere to clean up. Dhante, you’re gonna help me setting up the pyre.” He sighed briefly. “We’ll make this official.” 

 

**_\--------_ **

 

Silence reigned supreme inside of the inn, when Lihan finally exited his room. He knew why: everyone was outside already. The crowd had assembled near the makeshift pyre a few minutes earlier, just outside his windows. 

He had heard the screams, the cries, the outrage.

From behind the thick glass, he had lent an ear to the muffled speech Narth had given, to the reassurance, to the testimony of Dhante. 

And yet, he wasn’t ready to face them all. All those people who were following another man when they had joined the rebellion, all those people who now had to adjust to a change quite big. And above it all, he didn’t know if he was ready to lead them.

The floor felt cold, the air was still, the smell of wood and smoke and wax filling his nostrils as he made his way through the last room: the hall. He swallowed, trying to get the bitter taste he had in his mouth to disappear along with his nerves. He had a hand on the doorknob, the final frontier from the silence inside and the chattering outside. He tightened the grip. He stared ahead of himself. Chest out, chin high.

Finally, he opened the door, and everything outside went just as silent as the interior of the inn. 

Confused, scared, angry stares all turned his way, but no one spoke. No one dared to.

Narth and Dhante stood on the front of the group, with the wooden pyre behind them. 

Lihan made his way through the crowd, snow giving in under his weight, and he prayed not to trip and fall right there and then. Though it was a funeral, it felt like he was heading towards the gallows himself.

Eventually, he made it to the other two men, then turning to face the crowd. 

He didn’t know what to do or say, but luckily Narth preceded him.

“Brothers and sisters, you already know why we’re here, you already know what happened last night. What I’m asking of you is to respect the will of King Steelbear, as he chose his successor within his best intention. He wasn’t the kind of man to take such a decision without giving it the proper thought. He knew it was going to be hard for you, and he’s sorry for it. But it’s his will.” The rebel stepped forward. 

“If you’re willing to follow this man,” He extended an arm toward Lihan. “bend the knee.”

No one moved. 

Dhante shot Lihan a rather panicked look. Smokeblade eyed everyone in the audience, worriedly. It hit him like a dart. He knew what to do, so he took a step forward as well.

“Listen,” He began, his voice sounding way raspier than he’d hoped for. He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and started again.

“I won’t lie to you. I expected nothing of this. You don’t know me too well, but I myself can tell you I was not born to be a leader.” He paused, eyeing every single man and woman in the crowd. Their big eyes told him everything, he knew exactly what they were feeling: the rage, the fear, the frustration which all come with the mourning of a loved and respected one. He pressed on: “And yet… Lord Steelbear chose me to be  _ your _ leader. His last words begged you-- begged  _ all of us _ to honor his decision. I intend to do so. I’ll swear on any god, any truth, any sun and any moon.” 

And lowering his head, he bent his leg, kneeling in front of the crowd. 

“I will be your King. I will serve you.” 

Narth looked as shocked as everyone else. He kept gazing from Lihan to the crowd and vice versa. It was clear that was not the tradition, but Lihan wasn’t going to move until he got a reaction. 

Yet, what he got was not what he’d expected. 

In the total silence of the moment, he was probably the first one to hear the distant, thundering sound of horses approaching fast from the woods. When he looked up from his position, they were already there. 

Ten figures wrapped in heavy cloaks, faces hidden, rode dark horses, circling the crowd, forcing them into a closer and closer circle. There was turmoil, some confused rebels were begging for their lives, some were drawing their weapons. Behind Lihan, Dhante had grabbed his staff, dark eyes darting from one knight to the other, until one of them stopped right in front of them with a  powerful neigh of their steed.

The stranger hopped off, landing gracefully upon the snow. The cape and the hood didn’t move an inch. They were short in height, but that was about all that could’ve been gathered of them. The person made their way to the pyre, staring up at the body of the former rebel chief of Kar silently. Then, they seemed to fish something from the inside of their fur cloak, as the front slit parted, exposing heavy clothes and two gloved hands, holding a wooden stick which tip had been covered by some sort of cloth, and a strange stone. A torch. An instant later, fire was set to the cloth, which burnt fast. No one did anything. No one could stop the strangers, as everyone stood in disbelief, or perhaps curiosity, simply watching the scene. 

As expected, the figure approached the pyre, using the lit torch to ignite the wood and the dried grass and every flammable object Narth and Dhante had found. 

The whole thing was fast ablaze. Only then the person shifted their attention to Lihan. 

They stepped to him, looked down at him, and finally grabbed him by the collar of his armor, pulling him up. They didn’t have exceptional strength, but Smokeblade followed the pull of the arm, getting up on his feet. He knew not who those people were, but they didn’t look -nor smelled- undead, so he figured they weren’t with the queen.

“Who are you?” He asked, now looking down at the shorter figure.

There was a moment of hesitation. The stranger had tightened their muscles around his clothes for a second. Looking straight into the darkness of the hood, Lihan could’ve sworn he had seen-- 

The person let him go, interrupting whatever sort of connection they’d had for those few moments. Still, no one dared to talk. 

Until the stranger broke the silence.

_ “Fara,  _ brother.” A woman’s voice pronounced those words with a slight Naren accent, sounding both graceful and angelic and somehow gravelly at the same time. 

Lihan recoiled, sensing his equilibrium failing him, shock hitting him right behind his knees. Yet, he stood. He knew that voice. 

The woman turned away from the pyre and stepped towards Narth with secure strides.

“Are you the successor?”

The ginger man frowned, then shook his head. He pointed at Lihan, shyly. “It’s him.”

She eyed the raven-haired man from underneath the hood. “By Steelbear’s word?”  

“By his testament.”

“Very well.” Now she had fully turned back to face Lihan, a grin in her voice. 

“I must speak with all of you, anyways.”

“Who are you?” asked Smokeblade, his mind racing.

A cackle. “You’re right.”

Then, the woman straightened herself, her hands finally leaving her sides to remove her hood. And as dark fur fell, long, auburn hair flowed into the cold winter air. 

Lihan’s jaw dropped.

Right there, standing in front of him, after so much time. Green eyes, half-burnt face, but the same as always. 

“Jaela?”

Lihan stared at the disfigured woman in utter incredulity. It was really her: the same scars mirroring the beauty of the other side of her face, the same bright green eyes, though made duller by the clouded light from the sky. Maybe only the hint of bags under her eye sockets was the one thing that had changed, but everything else was just the same as when he had left her more than a year earlier. Blue irises looked right into the green, and he knew he’d been silent for too long. 

“Not that talkative anymore, uh?” She joked, grinning from ear to ear. “Doesn’t matter, we’ll have time later, in  _ Vera _ .”

Narth’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Milady, you mean--”

“Yes.” Jaela replied quickly. “We received Fharall’s raven a few days ago. You’re coming with us.” 

 

The next few hours were completely dedicated to gathering every single rebel and their belongings, ordering them up into a queue, and finally leaving the abandoned village behind. From then on, it was the same as it had been up until that morning: snowy woods, cold, and fear of being attacked by undead or ambushed by bandits. This time, though, the security brought by the Naren rebels helped in calming the more susceptible lot of the group. Lihan, on the other hand, couldn’t move at the same slow crawl everyone else was. In a matter of minutes, he marched his way to the front of the procession, muttering some sort of excuse every time he had to squeeze through other people. Soon enough, he was standing next to Jaela’s horse, lightly heaving. 

“Would you look at that.” The girl commented without even looking at him. She had her eyes on the white trail ahead of them, in case something or someone jumped at them.

_ A good leader. _

“I want to be honest,” she continued “I didn’t think you’d make it.”

Lihan felt a slight jab at his chest. Someone nearby snickered. 

“And why is that?” He replied, trying to sound as unaffected as possible.

“I knew you had been taken when I woke up.” Another stab. Her voice was colder. “And by that, I knew you had been sent to the capital. Everything began shortly after, and you were right at the epicenter of it. I just thought the odds were against you.” 

The young man was about to reply, but what was he going to say? Jaela saved him the trouble.

“Unless, of course, you were never taken and you just decided to leave.”

Lihan felt like that sentence could have gone further. 

“I didn’t.” He said lowly, then looking up at her to find her eyes shifting almost immediately back to the road. “Leave, I mean. I was taken.”

A pause. “Well, it doesn’t really matter now, does it?” She shocked him. 

“That life’s over.”

And with that, he knew the conversation was over. He retreated with his head down.

 

**_\--------_ **

 

Vera was a stone fort just at the end of the thicker forest, spanning many feet in width, but not so many in height. Its rather short structure suggested a large underground section which was common in northern architecture. The perimeter was pentagonal, with a thick tower at each angle where the robust walls met. All around it, various arrays of wooden spikes jabbed toward the exterior, and when Lihan saw an undead flailing, slowly and aimlessly, with one of the pikes sticking out of its back, the defense mechanism was clear to him. Archers teemed the walls and towers, reinforcing the protection of the fort. 

The group marched towards a big -and heavily guarded- wooden gate, and Jaela signaled the guards on the walls to open it.

“If I may, milady,” Narth began, stepping closer to her horse. “Your hideout doesn’t look abandoned, but rather inhabited. Haven’t you had any threats of a siege before?”

“Nothing we couldn’t handle.” Jaela replied right as the gate turned on its hinges, revealing a thick steel portcullis, which slowly slid up to let them through.

“Not many people are still alive up here, not enough to take a whole keep like this.” She spurred the horse forward. “The cold usually breaks them before we do.”

 

The inner courtyard was pretty simple, following the line of the walls and hosting just the stables, a section for training with hay dummies marked by concentric red circles, weapon racks and a couple of wooden shacks. Seen from the outside, Vera clearly wasn’t the castle in Kar, but Lihan certainly wasn’t going to be squeamish about it.

Just as he suspected, the front door lead to an underground set of tunnels and stairs, going who knows how much deep into the cold, hard soil of Narthe. It was really impressive how anyone could have managed to dig and build down there, but the Naren had always struck Lihan as strong-willed people. More of the rebels had come out to help the newly arrived allies, while Jaela had taken him and Narth down into the dungeons and then back up one of the towers, which Smokeblade recognized to be the one at the central peak of the pentagon. 

“The main quarters are here in the northern tower, along with the council room. Dining hall is in the south-eastern one. I’ll be seeing you tomorrow morning after breakfast for a council meeting.” 

Her instructions were simple and concise, which threw Lihan off a bit. Before leaving them to their bedchambers, she turned around, index fingers intertwining and one eyebrow raised.

“We’ll need to talk about the dragons.” 

  
  


**_((To be continued.))_ **


	6. 8x06 - House of the Undying

 

_ “Your majesty?” _

 

Words echoed in the lavish, far more than just hospitable bedroom. They ricocheted off the stone wall, crackled along with the roaring fireplace, bounced onto the soft pillows on the armchairs and on the velvet couches. 

It was the biggest room in the castle, right after the great hall where the throne sat against the back wall, overlooked by tall, heavy tapestries recording the most important feats in the history of the royal family. But while the throne room was rather chilly at times, especially during the winter, considering the sheer size of it, the ruler’s quarters were warm and cozy, fit for a king or, in this particular case, a queen.

Maryon Reinar sat up quickly. Her curly, fair hair, previously laid perfectly around her head, fell gracefully on her back and shoulders, while her blue eyes, surrounded by freckles, stared ahead, wide open. The girl who had woken her up, a simple handmaid, had almost been hit right in the chin by her royal highness. 

Silence ensued. The girl didn’t really know what to say, she hadn’t been asked to talk yet and she knew the queen took that kind of disrespect very seriously. Lucky for her, the queen spoke soon after.

“Is it morning already?” 

Her voice sounded softer in the morning, but never really got much more aggressive during the rest of the day. Someone who might have had -hardly- survived that fateful day at the temple of Orel, upon seeing her, would have probably thought she was a completely different person, almost as if everything remotely human about her had been taken away the moment she had risen her father’s corpse from the grave and taken control of the whole kingdom. 

But no one had had that much luck. 

“Y-yes, milady. Breakfast is served.” With worried eyebrows and a shy nod, the young girl pointed at the rather large silver tray she had previously left on a nearby sturdy table. Her majesty’s meal consisted in nearly every edible aliment in the castle kitchen, while the servants only got a minimal share of it.

At least, those who were still  _ alive. _

The word around the castle was that casting the spell which had broken centuries of previous prohibitions and discriminations against magic kind, had actually drained most of the queen’s energies, as the sorcery that allowed to control her undead servants all around Tha’Kari was also constantly doing.

Of course, more venomous tongues weren’t so kind towards their sovereign. While being very careful not to be heard by any foul-stenching, slow-roaming, terrible-looking corpse guards who walked the halls of the court in the armor of the previous royal soldiers, many living slaves spoke ill of the Reinar heiress, going on and on about how she was a  _ disgusting witch,  _ a  _ magic-cock sucking whore _ and even more obscenities about how she would take undeads in her bedchamber to -in absence of a more polite term-  _ fornicate _ .  But not her closest handmaid, Goddess no, she couldn’t join in the hidden insults, she didn’t dare. Not that she loved the queen, but she feared her with all her heart. Even before the tragedy, everyone had always teased her about being too helpless in every given situation, spacing from loud thunders to small insects.

But bugs and storms were the least of her problems now. She slowly and gently handed to the ruler of Tha’Kari a bowl of hot porridge and the blonde woman didn’t even look at her, though she had not an attitude of authority, but rather the look of a disoriented lamb. That’s why the handmaid couldn’t really believe all of the harsh things everyone said about her: it was almost as if she had never been the cause of the death of thousands of people, but as if she’d been a victim of the tragedy as well. Quite strange and hard to explain, really.

Queen Reinar had only taken one spoon to her mouth and the contents of it had already spilled onto her chin. Even with scalding hot milk and cereals on her skin, she had no reaction whatsoever. The handmaid, however, was quick to grab a handkerchief and carefully dab the liquid, in fear of the rage that never came.

“Will you help me get dressed, after I’ve eaten?”

Even though she represented the House of the undying rose, queen Maryon only carried the appearance of the beautiful flower, while the way she smelled was more fitting of a withering stem of nightshade. 

Death was everywhere around her: her magic, her servants, her own family.     It seemed like everything she touched was only destined to die.

“O-of course, your majesty.”

The queen lifted her gaze, meeting the other girl’s. Her icy blue eyes stared deeply into the handmaid’s and for a second, the servant thought she could read her mind. She was terrified of that woman.

Then, queen Maryon smiled. Lightly, barely lifting the corners of her pink lips.

“We have a great day ahead of us.”

She said that every single day.

 

**_\---------_ **

 

Lihan glanced to his right. 

The two stone-like spheres lay on the massive table in Jaela’s quarters. Like most of the furniture in Vera, it was made of sturdy Naren wood, dark and heavy, probably coming from the same trees the Kar rebels had grown almost sick of seeing during their journey. The eggs were motionless, but the light from the fireplace danced onto their hard surface, giving them some sort of animated appearance, though to a stranger they might as well have been rocks. 

Lifting his gaze from his seat at the table, Smokeblade eyed the large, detailed map of Tha’Kari -which he was seeing a full image of for the first time-, and the other people present in the room with him. Jaela right in front of him, surrounded by a pair of her most trusted subordinates, then Narth and Dhante at his own sides. The ginger man, standing and half-hunched over the map, had a finger placed on the northern side of Kar. Lihan was brought back from his thoughts.

“So you say you found them in an old temple?” The young woman asked.

“Yes, milady.” Narth replied. “Lord Smokeblade was sent out on a mission to retrieve a healing artifact of old, but there was no trace of it.”

Jaela seemed puzzled. “Who would take something like that and leave not one, but  _ two _ dragon eggs, for anyone to find?” 

Lihan felt like he probably had to speak. He was a leader now, after all.

“I don’t know. I honestly believed I had found what I was looking for.” 

“Well, it might not be that bad, all things considered.”

The newly appointed King of Cliffs furrowed. “Not that bad? We lost more than half our men in that attack.” 

“We lost more than half the population of Tha’Kari in one year.” Jaela replied, rather coldly. “What I meant to say is that we might have a leg up on our enemies now.” 

“How is that, milady?” Narth chimed in. “Do you know something we don’t?”

“I have been engaging in correspondence with the leader of the Surm rebels.” She stood up from her chair, walking behind it and resting her hands on the backrest. “He has told me the undead don’t do well in the scorching hot weather of the desert, while they thrive in the cold. If we want to attack the capital, we have to do it from the south, especially if we have actual fire-breathing dragons.” 

Dhante, who had previously remained silent, spoke with audible skepticism.

“So what? I’m a fire mage, and I sure as the sun know that fire doesn’t immediately kill them. The best way to get rid of an undead is to stab it right in the skull.” 

Jaela’s turned her burnt half towards him quickly. “As soon as I heard you had the eggs, I did some research. Dragon fire is recorded as the most powerful magic. Plus, if a blade in the skull kills them, it means all that’s keeping them alive is in here.” She tapped her temple. “If they rot faster with the heat and their brains melt down, we might have armies down in seconds.” 

Lihan noticed Dhante’s gloved hand clenching under the table.

“Did you find some way to make the eggs hatch?” He asked. 

“Unfortunately, I didn’t.” 

Narth sighed in frustration. “That  _ is _ unfortunate.” 

“But,” The Naren leader lifted a finger “I know of someone who might. Fharall did too.” 

“The old master in Jorgr.” Lihan murmured. Jaela heard him.

“Exactly. However, you won’t find him in the capital.”

The looks on the three men urged an answer. 

“Jorgr was destroyed less than a year ago, when the undead first attacked.” 

And with those words, Lihan’s memories of his first home in Tha’Kari came flooding back; some blurry, some clear, some embarrassing, some dear. 

His eyes met Jaela’s, but she didn’t comment. Instead, she explained further.

“I’ve heard from my scouts that the master was last seen entering an old fort in the western forests. He was being escorted by armed men. They were wearing the armor of the King’s Guard.”

Dhante scowled. “So the queen has him? Fucking great.”

“Those men were alive.” 

Narth nodded. “So it’s either bandits who would bother kidnapping an old man or…” 

“The queen’s brother.”

“Kalel Reinar?” Lihan blinked, surprised. “That’s impossible, I saw him dying.”

“Are you absolutely sure?”

Smokeblade thought about it. He had actually only seen him been thrown across the temple, but he had not seen him being eaten by the undead, nor even rising from death either, so he couldn’t be certain. He shook his head.

“Well, if he’s really alive, do you think he could be working for his sister, milady?” Narth intertwined his hands in front of his face.

“Not as long as he’s alive.” Replied Lihan, in her place. “She took over his reign, she tried to kill him. If anything, he’s on our side.”

“Good news at last.”

“No.” Jaela stated. “I don’t trust him. We shall not prance through his front door and ask for an alliance. We should send scouts to poke around his fort, see what he’s really looking for.” 

It was a no-brainer for Lihan. “I volunteer.”

Narth was shocked. “My lord, we can’t risk you on the field, we can send scouts as lady Jaela suggested.”

The rebel chief of Kar turned to him, dead serious. “So the life of scouts should be valued less than mine, a wanderer who just happened to be nominated  _ King of Cliffs _ barely two days ago? Besides, I personally owe it to Steelbear. It was his idea to look for this master.”

Dhante shrugged. “He’s right, you know.” He told Narth “I think me and our  _ lord _ here might be the ones with more experience in surviving out there.”

“Are you volunteering too?” It was Jaela’s turn to ask.

“As much as I don’t like the idea of being replaced by an oversized lizard-- I am.” His sass was back on, Lihan noted. Maybe it was just because it was addressed to the woman. 

She nodded. “Alright. You will leave for this mission.” 

“Milady--” Narth began.

“On one condition.” 

“Yes?” Lihan asked.

“You rest first. You can go tomorrow morning.” 

 

**_\--------_ **

 

The sky was clear, that evening. Quite strange, since it had been snowing most of the day before. But Lihan hadn’t been watching the sky up until that moment, when he was staring up at the night firmament from a small window in his room. Dinner had been nothing too fancy, as he was already used to, but it had been a silent one nonetheless. Everyone was too tired to speak, and it was clear the Naren rebels didn’t feel too comfortable talking to the ones coming from Kar, nor to their brand new chief.

“We should be…” Narth had begun, under his breath “...Socializing. Goddess, we’re allies.” 

Though he was right, Lihan also understood the side of who might not have had the physical strength to converse. Heavens, even he didn’t feel like talking that much. He had limited himself to a nod and a small shrug, to which the ginger man had replied with a sigh. 

But while being tired, he wasn’t really ready to go to sleep yet; and yet, he would’ve tried, at least. He was leaving in the morning, he had to get some shuteye. Before distancing himself from the glass, he eyed the outside one last time and, in the flickering light of the braziers on the walls, he saw the familiar silhouette of the fire mage and his staff. Dhante stood on the edge of the catwalk, looking in the distance, with what looked like his pipe in his mouth. Lihan could have stepped out for a chat, but he figured he’d have had time the next day. So he finally walked away from the wall, stripped from his armor, left his sword and boots next to the bed and climbed into it. 

The furs were nice and warm. Sleep took over in a matter of minutes.

 

**_\--------_ **

 

Lihan found Dhante in the courtyard the next morning, after breakfast. The young Welosi was adjusting his leather chest piece, his gloves and the staff on his back. Narth stood in front of him, stroking his ginger beard. 

“There you are, my lord.” The man greeted him, eyebrows raising. 

The fire mage nodded in his direction. 

Narth guided them both towards the stables. “Lady Jaela has agreed to lend you two horses for the journey.” 

“How nice.” Dhante commented, probably sounding more pointed than he’d hoped for. 

“Tell her I said thank you.” Lihan replied, shooting a quick look at the warlock. 

The ginger man gave them a quick nod and left. While the stable boy readied the two horses, the King of Cliffs adjusted his own backpack, where the two dragon eggs laid in a soft cloth. They were pretty heavy, and he hoped they weren’t going to be a hassle, especially in the eventuality of a fight. He just needed to show them to king Reinar to get him to trust the rebels, after all. 

In a flash, Smokeblade and the pyromancer were riding out of the front gate, the archers on the walls covering them from any approaching undead. 

The couple of rebels travelled the more open tundra of Narthe, heading from east to west. According to the map the scouts had given them, the fort they were looking for was situated in the forests near the old capital, but they seemed pretty far from Vera; at least half a day of journey.

As he’d expected, Lihan didn’t get much chance to talk to his companion, as they rarely stopped, just a couple of breaks to relieve themselves of any need imposed by nature, one of them always on guard for any upcoming threat. 

They had been riding for hours when they reached the first line of trees. They slowed down the paces of their horses to avoid slamming into trunks or tripping onto stumps. The beaten path was probably far away, and they didn’t intend on walking it anyway. Silence fell on them, interrupted only by the occasional huffs of their steeds and the rhythmic clopping of their hooves.

After a few minutes, the trees gave way to a large clearing. It wasn’t the one they were looking for, but it was enough to induce a reaction. 

The sun shined bright in the cloudless sky, giving the whole clearing a glimmering, colourful, dream-like appearance. It was almost a perfect circle, an oddly flourishing field of different flowers and tall grass. 

“What the…” Dhante murmured, eyes darting around the peculiarity.

“Magic.” Lihan replied, mostly sure he was right. 

Narthe was a snow-covered land of tundras and mountains and forests. Blizzards and sometimes rain storms were almost daily events. 

Then why were the two rebels staring at a perfect example of spring, surrounded and delimited by trees, across which was the same snowy landscape they’d seen for the past few days? 

Smokeblade spurred his horse and, in a moment, the mystery of what enchantment had caused that clearing to be the way it was became evident.

_ Crack. _

Lihan looked down. Underneath the hoof of his horse, broken into shards as sharp as knives, lay a human skull. He immediately jumped down from his saddle to look at it closely and he saw those remains weren’t the only ones.

All around him were human bones, some scattered, some still arranged in their original position, where they had once been covered in skin and tissue. 

It seemed as if the clearing had come from -or even better- on them, overgrowing onto ribcages and covering bones in moss, while pretty flowers poked out of eye sockets. It was a graveyard, but it was as if nature had killed those people itself.

Lihan heard Dhante get off of his horse. 

“Is it me or is the sun getting hotter?” 

The King of Cliffs was crouching next to a lying, almost completely intact skeleton. He was only noticing now how much the temperature had changed. It felt like spring in there, and the fur cloak he was wearing was causing him to sweat. Dhante was right. He got rid of the heavy garment, leaving it onto his saddle, and heard the warlock gasp quietly. 

“Shit. What happened here?”

“Didn’t Jaela say the dead rot faster in the southern weather?” 

“Do you think a bunch of corpses walked in here and suddenly fell down, actually dead?” 

Lihan looked over at the other side of the clearing. By squinting his eyes, he could make out the shapes of bones lying all over the field, not just at the edges. “No.” He said, leaning forward to pick one of the colourful flowers. 

As soon as the stem was separated from the ground, the flower quickly withered, turning a sickly shade of green and grey, sagging over Lihan’s fingers. 

“These plants,” He began as he tried picking another flower, with the same result “They’re connected to the earth.”

“So it’s definitely magic.” Dhante agreed “And an old kind too. I think I know what this is.” 

Lihan looked up at him.

“Remember the temple where we met?”

“The one dedicated to the old goddess of nature?”

“Exactly. We probably didn’t notice because everything in Kar is already very green, but I think a place like this was around those parts too.”

“So there’s another temple here?”

The fire mage nodded. “Probably. I read a bit about the old gods a few years ago. This kind of magic is only about life and healing, so it makes sense it would work against all things undead.”

“Like the artifact?”

“Like the artifact.”

Lihan arched an eyebrow. “But the spell couldn’t have been working before the undead walked in the clearing, otherwise there wouldn’t be so many.” He suddenly remembered something. “And I got attacked by them in that temple! Shouldn’t they have been gone even before waking up?” 

Dhante pursued his lips, his gaze roaming around the field once again. He stopped. “There, look!” He pointed his finger towards a small, stone obelysk rising up from the center of the circle. The grass around it was quite tall, so it was almost hidden. The two young men approached it, careful not to step or trip over the remains in the meadow and, when they reached it, they saw it was covered in runes. 

“Makes sense.” Dhante commented. “The one in Kar must have been broken.”

Lihan ran his finger onto the intricate web of symbols, half clothed in moss. 

“Mystery solved. Good to know something else kills them too.” 

“True,” Smokeblade stepped away from the stone “but we don’t know how to use magic like this. For all we know, this is the only functioning obelysk, and we couldn’t find any artifacts.” He was already on his way back to the horse.

“Alright,  _ lord pessimist. _ ” Dhante mumbled under his breath, following him.

 

It took them a few more uneventful hours to finally get to their destination. All signs of people, living or dead, had been replaced by silent trees and paradoxically even quieter, sporadic animals. And yet soon enough the thicket spread more and more again, until the two rebels found themselves at the base of a relief in the rocky ground. The forest had begun getting steeper, and the plain was quickly turning into mountain, and the tower was a few miles up. 

Lihan and Dhante looked at each other in agreement. No prancing in through the front entrance; they had to find another way in, but there seemed to be none. The two decided to leave the horses hidden behind and to proceed on foot.

“Do you think there’s a back entrance?” The warlock asked as they hiked upwards. 

“It’s a secluded fort. I doubt they wanted a way to get their throats slit while they were sleeping.”

“There might a secret passage out, though.”

“Good luck finding it from the outside, then.” Lihan retorted, harsher than he’d have liked.

Dhante felt the sting in his tone. “Are you always a dick to who saved your life?” 

Lihan scoffed. “I had everything under control.”

“Didn’t look like it.”

“ _ Shhh!” _ The other one shushed him.

“Hey! Don’t you shush me! You might be a  _ lord _ or whatever, but no one tells me to shut u--” 

Lihan’s gloved hand was pressing onto the warlock’s mouth. Dhante looked at him with his eyes wide open and his eyebrows furrowed. He was about to push him away and give him a piece of his mind, when he noticed how the man’s finger was on his own mouth and his eyes were darting around.

Then, he heard it. Breathing. Groaning. Grunting. Undead. Ten of them. No, more: dozens, maybe hundreds. A horde.  _ Shit. _

Dhante nodded, showing he understood the situation, and Lihan let him free.

The two men looked down the hill and saw the first lines of corpses making their way upwards, to them, to the tower. Were they controlled? Their various attire suggested the opposite, but there was no time to check: they had to run and hide and they had to do it fast. Lihan broke the stillness and ran as fast as he could, and the fire mage followed him. They were headed towards the tower, but they both knew they still couldn’t just approach it, or they would have probably been shot on sight. So their plan remained the same, just with much more urgency. Dhante saw it first: a small, wooden door on the side of the rocky relief. A mine, maybe; a way in, hopefully. The rebels stormed inside and found a dank, cold and dark entrance hall, which the fire mage immediately lit up with a snap of his fingers. 

To their horror, it didn’t lead anywhere. The narrow passageway ended with a solid rock wall. Whoever had been in that fort had closed the secret entrance for good. Dhante thought of running back outside and trying something else, but when he turned around, panting heavily, he noticed that Lihan had already unsheathed his sword. Following his gaze, he saw the first few undead make their way inside. 

The King of Cliffs leaped forward: hacking and slashing away, he took care of a few walking corpses, which fell limp and motionless on the hard ground, but outside of that tiny door was an actual horde, and soon enough they would have been overwhelmed. Dhante had to think quickly. There was only one solution.

“ _ GET BACK!”  _ He yelled at the top of his lungs, his voice booming in the small space as he twirled his staff at the best of his capacity. 

Lihan heard him and obliged, but only after planting his sword right between a dead woman’s eyes. When he finally jumped backwards and got behind the mage, he watched as a projectile of dense flames, almost resembling the magma of an active volcano, flew across the passage, aimed right at the rock on top of the frail wooden door. It was a matter of seconds: the ceiling of the small corridor of stone caved in, tumbling down onto the living corpses, crushing them and preventing them from pushing through. 

As the rock fell down, dust rose from the ground, causing the two rebels to cough and tear up as they backed up against the far wall, hoping the rest of the ceiling would hold up. 

The dust eventually settled in, back onto the ground and onto their clothes, while they sat, one in front of the other, their backs against opposite walls, panting, heaving, wiping their reddened eyes. 

“That--” Dhante wheezed out between coughs “--makes two.”

“What?” Lihan gasped, fighting for clean air.

“I’ve saved your ass twice now, you lucky fucker.” Something about that must have been really funny, because the fire mage immediately started laughing, though sounding more like a dying cat while doing so.

Lihan reached for his waterskin, taking a deep gulp out of it. “If being stuck in a cave means being safe, I guess.”

“Ease of the sarcasm,  _ my lord,  _ we ain’t dead yet.” Dhante mirrored his action, drinking as if he had been suffering the thirst for months.

“Yet.” Lihan replied “We have no way out of here, unless you’re sitting on it.”

“Shit, man.” Sighed the warlock “At least we have air, look.” And with that, he snapped his fingers again, and a small flame flickered into life on top of his index finger. He was right. Not only had the cloud of dust dissipated, but the little, candle-like fire swirled in a current that wasn’t caused by neither of their breaths. So the wall was blocking out the way, though not sealing completely the fort from the secret entrance. That was good, but they couldn’t move the heavy stones, nor could they try to burst them open with Dhante’s magic, as they would have risked the whole ceiling caving onto their heads.

“So what, we just wait until we starve to death?”

“Fucking hells.” The eye-roll was audible in the pyromancer’s voice. “Do you ever have positive thoughts?  _ Ever? _ Shit, I might slit my own throat and let my reanimated corpse eat you alive, if you’re planning to act this way.” He was clearly stepping out of bounds, careless of whatever kind of authority Lihan had. “Yes, we’re stuck together, but we might as well make the most of it, since we have a bit of food anyways, it can last us for days.” 

Smokeblade sneered. “ _ Make the most of it? _ What do you want, a kiss?”

Dhante’s reply was quick and sharp. “If it helps shutting you up, absolutely.”

The two sighed, almost simultaneously. Silence ensued for a few seconds.

“I’m sorry.” Lihan said in the darkness.

“I’m sorry too.” The other replied. “But I understand where you’re coming from. It’s all happening too fast, isn’t it?”

Lihan nodded, then realizing he couldn’t be seen, he spoke. “Yes.”

“You’ve been through a lot.”

“We all have.”

“That’s not what I mean. I heard you lived for a whole year by yourself in the woods.” Dhante actually sounded a little worried. “And you were at the temple of Orel. You saw it happen.”

Silence.

“I can’t even begin to imagine how that must have been like.”

Many words came to Lihan’s head. He opted for a short answer. “Rough.”

“And the castle in Kar… Shit.” Dhante was fidgeting in the dark. Probably aching for a smoke, but not wanting to test his luck in case the hole in the wall wasn’t big enough. “People have lost so much there. I mean, Narth lost Laki.”

Lihan frowned. “What do you mean?”

A light cackle. “What do I mean? Those two were clearly a thing.”

“A thing? You didn’t even know them, how could you know?”

“I’ve got…” A hesitant pause “...a keen eye.”

“If you say so.” Though skeptical, Lihan reflected on those words. Narth had been pretty devastated after Laki’s death. He had always attributed it to the loss of his home and of his best friend, but now that he thought about it, it did seem a bit too much of a reaction. Guess they really were together after all. That made him feel even more sorry for the ginger man. Even though it appeared he had recovered, at least partly, it was true that Narth had only been focusing on his work as Lihan’s adviser, and had probably not been thinking about much else. He couldn’t help but strongly respect that man, remembering the night before, as he spoke to Jaela with confidence, hunched over the table, navigating the map of Tha’Kari as if he’d known it like the back of his hand. That sparked a thought in Lihan’s mind.

“Is the world flat?”

Dhante faltered. “What?”

“Is Tha’Kari flat? What’s across the Great Sea?” 

“How did you start thinking about geography?”

“I remembered the map we saw last night. I had that question in my head, but that seemed the worst moment to ask it.”

“And  _ this _ isn’t?” A chuckle. 

“We have time. What do you think?”

“I don’t know. No one has ever tried to sail that far in thousands of years. No one ever needed to, or no one ever came back, I guess.”

“You don’t have any evidence one way or the other, alright, but what do  _ you _ think?” Lihan kept on “If you were to sail east from Ery’Le and kept going in the same direction, would you fall into some sort of void? Or would you eventually find yourself in Welos? And how much time would it take?”

“Holy shit,” Dhante coughed up a small laugh. “That’s the most I’ve ever heard you talk. Either you have wine in your flask or I was wrong and there isn’t enough air for the two of us in here. Well, guess you’ll die first.”

Lihan sighed. “Fine.” And he went back to his usual silence. 

A few seconds passed, until Dhante broke the stillness.

“I really don’t know. I don’t like to think about it too much, but I would really like to see it. Flat or rou--” A loud sound filled the small space. It took a bit for Lihan to realize the mage had sneezed. It was a pretty humid place after all.

“Bless you.” He said, instinctively.

“The fuck is ‘bless you’?” Dhante replied, puzzled, glad Lihan couldn’t see him wiping his nose on the sleeve of his tunic.

The other man stayed silent for a while, reflecting on the unusual thing he had just said. 

“Is that something you say where you come from?” Asked the mage “Actually, now that I think about it, where  _ do  _ you come from? I never got the chance to ask.”

Lihan gulped. “Well,” Hesitant, he shifted in his -uncomfortable- seat. After all, he was stuck in a cave with one of the few -dared he say- friends he had. What did he have to lose? His story wasn’t a really big secret, he just had not revealed it to a lot of people. 

“I don’t know where I come from.” He finally said. “I awoke one day in a castle owned by a man named Wirme, who sold me to a…” Was he going to say  _ brothel _ ? “...slave den, in Jorgr. That’s where I met Jaela.”

“Were you two a thing as well? Because I sensed some tension, back in the village.” Dhante cut immediately to the chase.

Lihan coughed nervously, blaming the dust and being glad the darkness hid the light flush on his cheeks. “It happened once.” He said, regaining his composure. “And she helped me a lot.” 

“Oh, I can imagine how she could  _ help  _ you.” He snickered. He was still a child in a grown man’s body.

Lihan kicked him blindly, rejoicing a bit inside when he heard a muffled grunt of pain, knowing he had hit the other rebel’s shin. 

“Alright, sore note, got it, sorry.” Too bad, he would have liked to ask more details about the woman’s half-burnt face as well. “What happened then?”

“I got taken to the capital.”

“You were sold?”

“Something like that.”

Dhante didn’t press further on the matter. “And that’s when you witnessed the start of all of this, I assume.”

“Exactly.” Lihan couldn’t stand another question on his past. Rather than suffering more banter, he switched the interrogation around.

“What about you? What did you do before… This?” He asked, folding his arms on his chest and laying back a little. It was getting colder.

There was silence, oddly enough. Dhante didn’t seem like the kind of guy who hates talking about himself. Hell, he was always making malicious remarks about everything and everyone, but now that Lihan thought about it, he  had never made them about himself directly. Perhaps his constant sarcasm was a way of focusing all the attention onto the situation at hand and away from himself.

Before he could think further, the warlock replied.

“I guess you could tell I’m from Welos.” He stated with a sigh. “Me and my mother lived in the capital, we were pretty wealthy. My mom was a merchant and her trade did well, it paid enough for me to enroll with the Masters of Orel. Priests, basically.”

Dhante? A priest? That was a strange image. Lihan let him go on.

“My mother wanted me to get a better education that the one she’d had, she wanted me to learn everything there is to know about everything in the world.”

Lihan expected a  _ but,  _ and it came quickly.

“But fate had different plans, I guess. It was the night of my seventh birthday. I was in the garden. My mother had set up a small brazier to cook some meat she had bought for the occasion. I don’t know what happened exactly, but it fell over its side and… Somehow, the flames went straight to me.”

Another pause. Lihan thought about his own incident at Marybel.

“They didn’t touch me, though. I remember covering my face and screaming, and the next thing I knew, our house was on fire. That’s how my mother-- and I, for that matter- found out I was magically endowed.”

Lihan had to ask. “Nothing magic related had ever happened to you before?”

“No. I’ve heard that’s how it happens. It suddenly comes to you, you usually don’t have it since birth.”

“So it could happen to anyone?”

“From what I’ve read, it always happens before the tenth year of life.”

“I get it. Sorry if I interrupted you.” Lihan apologized, using a hand for a ‘carry on’ gesture that couldn’t be seen. 

“No worries. Anyways, we lost the house. We lost the goods my mother used to sell, we lost the money, everything. Being magical was illegal, a crime punished by death, so we had to lay low. I couldn’t pay the Masters’ dues anymore, so I stopped going to school. Instead, I begged on the streets with my mother until she died five years later.”

Based on what he looked like, that left at least ten years of Dhante’s life in which he had had no roof over his head, no family, no friends. Lihan couldn’t help but wonder if Tha’Kari was populated by happy people, and if it ever had been. His guess was negative. But that story raised a question.

“What about your father?”

Lihan could hear a low chuckle. “I don’t think I’ve ever met him. Not that I can remember, at least. Sometimes I find myself wondering who he was, what he did, but most importantly, why he left. I don’t doubt he had a reason, I just…” A sigh. “...I rarely feel like I don’t deserve an answer, but the more I think about it and the less I feel like I’m gonna get it. He’s--” He was searching for the right words. “A ghost to me, now.”

_ Poetic. _

“I’m sorry.” There wasn’t much more to say in that context. If there had been, Lihan really wished he had known what it was.

“Listen, I know we’re stuck in here, the air’s not much and shit, but…” 

Smokeblade understood. “It’s alright, you can smoke. In fact, if you don’t mind, I’ll take that offer you made a while ago.” 

“The kiss?” The old, sassy Dhante was back.

The other rebel let himself cackle lightly. “Pretty sure  _ I  _ made that offer. I was talking about the pipe.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” 

There was rustling in the darkness, then a small flame like the one which had illuminated the passageway before. In the flickering light, Lihan thought he saw that the mage had watery eyes, but it was so quick that he couldn’t be sure. 

Dhante took a drag and puffed out the smoke slowly, careful to do it towards the wall, so that the cave wouldn’t be filled immediately. Then, he passed the pipe to the other rebel, who copied his action, though not without coughing loudly after the first inhale. 

Dhante laughed. “Sorry, it’s a bit strong.”

“No shit.” Lihan commented. Swearing was something he was slowly picking up from his companion. 

They handed each other the wooden pipe in silence and in the dark, the fire mage chuckling every time the other would have a hard time smoking his tobacco leaves.

“You know, I’ve got tamer stuff, if you want.”

“I said it’s alright, I can take it.”

“Fine, fine,  _ lord Smokecough _ .” 

“Fuck you.” 

Suddenly, steps. Light seeping in through the cracks in the wall. Muffled voices. Though they couldn’t see each other, Dhante and Lihan’s eyes met. Someone was coming. Seconds later, they could hear the sound of some sort of mechanism work its way through rust and dirt and then they felt the wall nearby move. Immediately, they jumped up from their seats, weapons ready.

The light from numerous torches flooded the small stone corridor, blinding them for a little while. When they opened their eyes, they saw the tunnel led into a small, rectangular room, seemingly used for storage, filled with barels and crates. On the threshold stood a bunch of armed men clad in dark armor, some in leather, some in steel. At their lead, holding one of the torches, was a Welosi woman.

“I thought I heard something. Take them to the king.” 

 

The secret passage must have been deep down into the tower dungeon, since it took the group a few minutes to get to the king’s room. After the guards had taken their weapons, they had tied Lihan and Dhante’s hands behind their backs, but what they had chosen not to do was putting a blindfold on their eyes; that was enough for Lihan, who spent the entire trip trying to memorize every tiny detail of the environment. For example, he noticed how the underground portion of the tower was nearly empty, maybe because most of the soldiers were busy defending the entrance from the horde. Or was it because there weren’t many people in there to begin with? Lihan scrapped that thought: if there really had been so little man power at the service of the former king, the tower would have been swarmed by the undead by now. Furthermore, there were four men and the Welosi woman escorting the two rebels. If they had been in shortage of guards, their entrance would have been much easier.  When they got to the section which was closest to the surface, his speculations were confirmed: the clanking of steel and the groans of the dead could be heard coming from the stairway leading upwards. From that, Lihan deduced there only was one entrance and exit, aside from the passageway they had gotten in from and, considering the position of the king’s rooms, to the left, and the lower parts of the dungeon, to the right, he knew that if things went south in the meeting and they had to flee, they could have been stuck between a rock and a hard place. Of course, he still hoped the rebels and king Kalel could have become allies, but he did have a sensation they had started off on the wrong foot.

Dhante had remained oddly silent during the walk. Perhaps he’d figured it was better not to take any chances, when an alliance was at stake. Lihan was grateful to his capacity of not saying anything when it counted.

Finally, the Welosi woman stopped before a wooden door. It didn’t look like much, it was no different from any other entrance they had spotted on the way there, but the two rebels were certain the Reinar heir was just across the threshold.

“You better hope the king has time to listen to you.” 

With that, she opened the door and the whole group stepped in. 

Inside was some sort of a throne room, albeit rather smaller than any other Lihan had ever seen during his time in Tha’Kari. It made sense, though: Kalel Reinar was a king on the run, after all. The young heir sat on the throne -it being an elegant, but not royal, wooden chair- with a few parchments in his hand. Next to him, an old man spoke in hushed tones, probably explaining what the letters said. A few feet ahead of them, a very tall and muscular man in heavy armor stood fiercely, his hands on a huge, sharp and weighty looking  _ zweihänder.  _ The colossus didn’t move an inch as he saw the guards walk in, but he did frown a little when he spotted the two rebels. The Welosi woman walked up to the three men and knelt.

“My lord, we have captured two intruders who tried to sneak in through the lower secret passage.” She announced solemnly “We await your orders.” 

The young king seemed perplexed at first, lifting his gaze from the sheets in his hand as if he had not immediately understood what had been said to him.

“You were running from the horde?” He asked quickly, but in a rather soft tone which suited his mostly groomed appearance. Even though he had been hiding in a secluded fort, he still looked like a noble.

Lihan felt like it was his responsibility to answer. “Yes.” He paused, then felt all the eyes in the room on him. “ _ My lord _ .” He added.

“How did you know of this fort?” 

That was it. He had to tell him what they were really there for. 

“I am Lihan Smokeblade, King of Cliffs and of the Great Forests, Rebel Chief of Kar.” He sensed a shift of atmosphere. A few of the guards had their hands on the hilt of their swords, including the Welosi woman. Lihan took a deep breath, then continued.

“This is my friend, Dhante. We’re here to form an alliance.”

“An alliance?” The woman growled. Kalel lifted a hand to silence her.

“You came all the way from Kar?”

“No. Our hideout there was attacked and destroyed by the White Queen’s undead soldiers about a week ago.”

The king nodded slowly. “So you’re hiding somewhere here, in Narthe, presumably with other rebels.”

Lihan knew he was treading on dangerous ground already. “I will not fully disclose the details of our group until the alliance is formed.”

“What makes you think I want to form an alliance?”

“We have a common enemy. Your sister is destroying half Tha’Kari and no one even knows why.” Dhante chimed in. Smokeblade kind of wished he hadn’t.

King Reinar arched an eyebrow. “My sister is disturbed. She is using the forbidden practice of magic to get the reign she always desired.” His tone had changed slightly towards the end of the sentence, as if the only mention of magic and of his sister’s motives caused a hidden rage to surge through him.

“However,” He continued, seemingly regaining his composure “As my father did before me, I intend on keeping the old laws intact.” 

_ That meant-- _

“Your rather talkative companion is wearing a peculiar attire.” He observed. “And that staff… I’ve studied the annuals, I know  _ what  _ he is.” When he said that, the guards and the colossus stood on edge, ready to attack.

If Dhante’s demeanor had been mostly calm up until that moment, it was now quickly changing, and Lihan could feel the air around him get warmer.  _ Shit. _

“My lord--” He tried using respectful protocol again “Dhante is a fire mage, yes, but I assure you he has proven time and time again that magic isn’t evil.” He paused, taking a breath to formulate the next few words in his mind. “He saved my life multiple times.” The warlock seemed to have been -ironically- cooled down by that sentence. However, king Reinar remained firm.

“You might trust this magical.” He pointed a finger at Dhante. “Because their kind is known for confusing our minds with their tricks, to betray us in the future. I will not stand for this.” 

The pyromancer didn’t look too happy. Lihan knew he had to wrap it up soon, before the whole tower went ablaze. “King Reinar, I know your views of the world and of magic-kind are different from ours, but please, consider what we’re offering. With our forces combined, we may be able to defeat the White Queen and restore your reign.”

“And I assume you’d want me to forget the old laws and just… Let those abominations live with us?” The more they spoke about magicals, the less Kalel seemed to be interested. Dhante was on the verge of bursting into flames himself. 

Lihan quickly changed the subject. “Man power isn’t the only thing we offer.” 

Slowly, careful not to frighten the soldiers, he reached into his backpack. The king’s men watched, following his every move. When he pulled out the two round stones, the only one who had a reaction was the old man next to the king. “Goddess almighty! Can it be?!” He sounded…  _ Excited. _

“What is it, Master Hreloth?” 

“I cannot believe my eyes!” The elderly master exclaimed, stumbling his way across the room to observe what Lihan had taken out of his bag.

“These are dragon eggs, my lord!” He almost squealed, placing a hand on one of the two and closing his eyes. “Oh, yes… They really are!”

“What does it mean for us?” Kalel asked from his seat. 

Lihan took the old man’s chance to answer. “It means we might have a way to dispose of the undead more quickly than anything we’ve ever tried before.” As he explained, he couldn’t help but smirk a little. “Dragon fire is the most powerful magic there is.” 

“There  _ was _ , my dear boy.” Master Hreloth corrected him “Dragons haven’t been seen in hundreds of years.” He turned his head as he spoke, so that he was facing the king as well. “Furthermore, it is not for sure that the dragons born from these eggs could bring forth fire magic, nor that they would be born at all.”

The two rebels’ faces fell. “Why is that?”

“Many kinds of dragons existed, back in the day. Not all of them breathed fire.”

“So it’s not certain you have such a powerful weapon.” Kalel stated.

“There is, indeed, a chance.” said the master. 

Lihan knew it was make or break now. “I’d take a chance over nothing.”

There was silence, for a few seconds. King Reinar looked pensive, as he should have. Then, he signaled the elderly man to approach him. They spoke in hushed tones again, for a while, the young king staring into nothingness while the other man whispered. Finally, the king stood up, and the two of them made their way over to the rebels. 

“Master Hreloth has made a few valid points.” He announced, while Lihan noticed he was quite short, standing a few inches below him. 

“Though I do not approve of your standing with the magic kind, I will accept a truce, until the war against my sister’s unjust reign is over.” Lihan sensed that Dhante would’ve wanted to say his part, but was glad he stayed silent once again. Now was not the moment. “The full terms of the alliance with the rebels will be discussed at a meeting, which I will organize in a few days. You shall be receiving a raven, but I will need to know where your base is.” 

Lihan was about to agree, but the young king continued. 

“For now, I have two conditions.”

Lihan clenched his jaw. “What are they?”

“First of all,” Kalel began “You and any other rebel chief must bend the knee and pledge loyalty to your one and only king. Any order from now on comes from me, and you and your group must obey at any cost.”

Lihan was surprised, but there was more. 

“And second, you must hand over the dragon eggs, as Master Hreloth has explained his curiosity in studying them, along with finding a way to make them hatch.” 

That was a low blow. Were they really going to leave the eggs to the queen’s brother? What if he had been working for her all that time? They surely couldn’t risk having spent all that time and energy for nothing, could they? It was true that they didn’t know how to hatch the dragons, but there had to be another way. 

“We can’t agree to these terms, not right now.” Lihan’s answer came quick and precise. He had chosen to be honest and accept the negative consequences, as he just couldn’t leave the eggs and bow his head to a man he barely knew, nor that he considered his king. It was more than his pride, dictating his choice, it was his gut: it just didn’t feel right.

King Kalel Reinar didn’t look pleased. “Choose: bend the knee…” He glanced at Dhante for an instant. “Or die.”

Lihan Smokeblade gave himself a second chance to think about it. He valued every option on an imaginary scale in his mind. Was surrendering his own authority the only way to get out of that fort alive? As he reflected, time seemed to slow down, and his senses sharpened. By focusing, he could hear the breathing of all the people in the room, from Dhante’s anxious little huffs to Hreloth’s raggedy, slow snorts. He heard the groans of the horde upstairs, the noise of battle. Someone had already been bitten, probably. 

Then, bright as lightning and loud as thunder, came a sensation. Something called to him, something and strong as magic and pure as nature, the sheer strength of that brief connection was the proof that something was really trying to reach for him and, when he realized that whatever it was was coming from the two round eggs in his hands, resonating with an odd, humming warmth on his back, he knew what he had to do. 

Lihan knelt.

Though he wasn’t looking, he knew Dhante had opened his eyes wide in shock. The mage couldn’t believe what his so-called leader was doing, giving away the only sure way of defeating their enemy to a stranger who hated magic-kind, the kind he was part of, the thing he had always been shunned for, for which he had blamed himself for years; it was everything  _ he  _ was. Everything was about to end for him, for them all. Kalel Reinar would have betrayed them, he just knew it, he knew it and he couldn’t have done anything about it. Why had he embarked in that suicide mission? Why had he joined the rebels? He was doing fine up until he had met Lihan, and that  _ fucking fucker _ was about to ruin his life! He felt the familiar warmth of his magic running through his hands. He had a clear shot of the two kings: he just had to decide which one he was going to kill. 

Lihan was down on one knee, his hands up. The eggs rolled, slow and meek, in the frail palms of the old Master. King Reinar had the look of victory on his face. That’s when he acted, quick as he had learned to be.

With a swift movement, he leaped to the side, grabbed the sword from one of the guards’ sheath and rapidly sliced the man’s thigh open, causing him to drop immediately to the ground. Blood spilled just as quickly, covering Lihan’s face in a grotesque, crimson mask, before pooling onto the stone floor. But while the red liquid engulfed the man’s body, Lihan was already onto the second guard, disarming him at the speed of sound. With great agility, he had taken possess of a second blade, and was now fighting another one of the king’s men and the Welosi woman. They both were incapacitated soon, as Lihan danced with his swords around the room; as he turned to face the other guards, he found them on the floor, and the smell of burnt skin and metal filled his nostrils. They all had holes in the chest pieces of their armor: Dhante.

The distraction was enough: king Reinar had sneaked up on him, aiming his weapon at his neck. Lihan turned around and saw him and the fair-haired colossus threatening him. Strangely, there was no sign of the fire mage, nor of the old Master. 

“I take it this is a refusal.” The young king said through gritted teeth. 

“No shit, cunt.” Dhante’s sour tone came from right behind him. As the two men looked, they saw the warlock holding two fingers at the old man’s temple. Even through his leather gloves, they had a reddish hue, like melting metal. 

His other hand was raised, and Lihan immediately saw what it was controlling: two twin fireballs hovered next to the king and the colossus’s heads. 

“Drop your weapons.” The mage spat out, and the two obliged. “Now stand back.” As the young king stepped away, with a disgusted look on his face, the tall man did the same, his heavy armor clanging with his every move. 

Dhante moved across the room until he reached one of the dead guards, from which he recovered his staff, and then reached for Lihan near the door. 

“Move!” He ordered to Hreloth, who shuffled outside the door, followed by Smokeblade, who had a sword at his back. Dhante quickly slammed the door close, then waving a hand above the lock: the metal melted quickly, shutting it completely. Given the size of the king’s henchman, it wasn’t going to hold for long, but he could already hear the sound of the dead men turning on the other side. 

“We need to get back to the passage!” Dhante said, while the other grabbed the eggs from the man’s hands forcefully and stuffed them back into his bag. 

“But you closed it, there’s no way out!” 

“There is, I can try to burst it open again, but we need to be quick, everything is gonna come crashing down!” It wasn’t the best idea, but it was the only one.

The two rebels pushed the Master forward, but Dhante stopped in his tracks when they got to the stairway leading to the front door. The fight was still going on. 

Lihan turned around when he noticed he was still. “What are you doing?!”

“Killing two birds with one stone.” Then, the fire mage twirled his staff like he had done previously, and the air around him caught fire, following the path the two ends of the wooden rod made. It resembled some sort of symbol or rune, but if it really was the same spell as before, Lihan had not noticed anything like that. 

Finally, the warlock pushed his hand forward, and another ball of magma-like substance flew across the hall and precisely up the stairs. There was a loud, booming sound, and Lihan knew the front door had been destroyed. 

The horde was already pushing inside the tower.

“ _ RUN!” _

Despite the Master’s old age, the three men managed to run all the way down to the secret passage in record time, but when they got there, they found two more guards waiting for them. The two men had their weapons out already, and one of them lept towards Lihan, who instictively ducked and dashed to one side, where the other soldier’s sword fell onto him. He had no time to parry, so instead he foolishly blocked the hit with his backpack. While the first one caught on fire thanks to Dhante and screamed in agony, Smokeblade drew one of his swords and slit the second’s throat. 

Lucky for them, the secret wall was still open from before. While the fire mage prepared another burst of magma, Lihan made sure the two men weren’t coming back as undead. There was screaming coming from upstairs: the horde had reached the living quarters, probably the infirmary too. 

It was time to go.

A roaring sound accompanied Dhante’s projectile. The wall of rock on the other side had been smashed to pieces, and the ceiling of the cave was already cracking. In a flash the two rebel and the master were outside, covered in dust and blood, panting and sweating, but safe. 

It was then that Lihan noticed that his backpack was significantly lighter. Quickly, he slid it off his shoulders and, inspecting it, got the horrifying surprise. Not only had the guard’s sword cut right through the leather and fur, but one of the two eggs had fallen out somewhere, while the other one laid still on the bottom of the bag, albeit being crossed by a long, thin crack. 

His heart dropped. “It’s gone!”

“What?!”

“One of the eggs, it’s gone!”

“What do you mean it’s gone?!”

Lihan lifted his gaze towards the opening in the rock. The egg must have still been in there, but it was all but safe to go back. The ceiling of the cave could have fallen onto his head at any given moment. 

Dhante saw him, he knew what he was thinking. “Don’t--”

It was too late. Lihan had dropped his bag on the ground and had rushed to the cave. 

“ _ FUCK! NO!” _ Yelled the mage, behind him, but his attention was soon caught by a faint, blue light coming from the ripped backpack on the snow.

  
  


Lihan reached the room at the bottom of the tower in a matter of seconds. He could hear more screams coming from upstairs, along with the hustling of undead feet making their way down, towards him. He saw it on the floor: the missing egg lay near the body of the guard he’d killed earlier, and as he approached it fast and picked it up, the King of Cliffs noticed a similar, if not identical crack on its hard shell. He cursed as loud as he could, eyeing the stairs in terror. A hissing sound caught his attention: next to the entrance to the secret passage, a stack of barrels with a strange, long, dark thread sticking out had just caught on fire, the culprit being the dead body of the guard who had been unlucky enough to challenge Dhante. It was clear in an instant: whatever was in the barrel, its purpose was to collapse the passageway in case of danger. 

Lihan ran. 

The flame had almost reached the barrel.

The cave ceiling was about to give in. 

 

_ BOOM. _

 

When Lihan opened his eyes, he wasn’t outside yet.

It was confusing, something in his brain told him he was safe, as he was feeling the chill of the cold Naren air, but all around him was still dark. He saw the light at the end of the passageway, then heard a rock fall right behind him, and finally noticed the flames. He was completely engulfed: his clothes, his hair, his skin. He screamed at the top of his lungs as he wished to run, to get out of there before he burned alive, before the whole mountain fell on him, but then he realized:  _ he wasn’t burning. _

He felt no pain. No scorching hot flames. And he remembered. The incident at Marybel, the torch, the small, transparent scale on his arm. He knew what was happening. 

The dust filled his eyes. He was almost out.

  
  


Dhante gasped as he saw him running out of the cave, just to collapse on his knees in the snow a few feet further, while the tunnel finally collapsed with a thundering sound. The fire mage was shaking. He looked at the other rebel, who only now looked back at him. His clothes were ripped, but thankfully not completely ruined. Underneath the holes, though, shined something opalescent, reflecting the light of the setting sun and giving the young man the appearance of still being on fire. Instead, there were no flames. Only translucent, glimmering scales on his skin. And as he looked down, between his arms, there was no egg. In its place, a small ball of dark red skin and similarly coloured scales wiggled ever so slightly, emitting low huffs and puffs.

Dhante was about to call Lihan’s name, when the man fell on his side, unconscious. The last things he had heard had been the clopping of horses. 

  
  


**_((To be continued.))_ **

 


	7. 8x07 - A Song of Fire and Ice

 

Rocks tumbling down a cliffside. The bubbling sea below. A breath taken through gritted teeth, in the dark. The first few drops of rain hitting the cold ground. A voice singing of tales of old, softly, echoing, seemingly coming from everywhere. A low buzz of insects. The rhythmic drumming of blades against shields. The battle songs of thousands of men. A lamenting voice calling, beckoning, closer and closer and closer. 

Lihan laid in a field. The rest of his senses came back to him one after the other.

Underneath his palms, he felt the grass, humid with dew; the sounds he had heard before were even stronger now, as if he had been at the very epicenter of all of them, like all of those sounds were for him and for him only, sung by a choir all around his still body. 

And yet, he smelled only the pungent, disgusting stench of rotting corpses. 

He did not know if it was real, or if his senses were confused, but he knew he  could also taste it in his mouth. 

_ “Wake up.” _ Said a voice. It sounded like a woman: an old woman, at that. His brain raced to link the voice to a person, a face, but could not find anything in his already scattered memory. And yet it felt so familiar, albeit quite hidden, as if he had once dreamed of it before, while being asleep in a sunny place.

_ “Wake up.” _ It repeated, ever so louder. The taste of rotting flesh in his mouth got stronger, and Lihan knew it wasn’t just his nose tricking him: although he couldn’t feel anything with his tongue, he knew he had eaten something decayed and festering. The sole thought made him want to vomit instantly, and when he felt his whole body jerking to a side to puke out whatever he had inside of him, he didn’t need to open his eyes to know that his own teeth and tongue had almost effortlessly slid out of his jaw, only to splatter onto the ground beneath him. Without the sense of taste, he was left with his smell telling him the rotting odor came, in fact, from him. 

_ “WAKE UP!” _

 

Lihan finally opened his eyes. It took him a while to realize he was panting heavily, sweat dripping copiously from his whole body into the furs above him and the sheets underneath. He was staring up at the stone ceiling, the blind dream still replaying in his mind; though he had actually seen nothing of it, the images associated to the sensations he had felt were burnt in him. 

Lihan could feel his feet beneath the covers and his hands nervously gripping on the heavy furs, knuckles red with strain, fingers sore from the effort. 

He finally forced himself to relax. An exhale left his lips, and the thumping of his own heart left his ears. He noticed his back had been lightly arched all this time, and slowly let it back down onto the bed, feeling the soft clacking of his bones as they settled in their place. As his eyes slowly found the courage to look around the room, he found himself afraid of seeing some kind of monstrosity at every corner; instead, he only saw what looked like an infirmary of some sort. The thick and heavy-looking stones in the walls opaquely reflected the light from the torches and braziers, along with the weaker, flickering one of the candle on the nightstand next to Lihan’s bed. From his spot, he could see many other beds, some of which were occupied: those had, like his own, a lit candle next to them, while the others were in the dark. The more he observed his surroundings, the more he was reminded of the infirmary at Marybel, way back in time. For a split-second, he was convinced he was back there, believing that the rising of the dead, the living in the forests, the rebels, had all been a dream. He wallowed in that delusion, sure of the fact that, as soon as he had turned over, he would have seen the sleeping body of Jaela next to him.

When he checked, of course, she wasn’t there.

A door on the opposite side of the room opened. Lihan turned his head quickly to see a woman walk in with a small candelabrum in her hand. She was small,  and a loose-fitting grey gown and white apron engulfed most of her body and brushed the floor, while a white bonnet covered her hair, only leaving a few fair locks out. Her big eyes turned even bigger when she saw that Lihan was awake, but before he could say anything -finding his throat extremely dry and raspy- she had already spun on her heels rapidly, storming back outside. Smokeblade was quite confused, but couldn’t really call her over, as every attempt resulted in a coughing fit. 

Luckily, he didn’t have to wait long: in a matter of minutes, the young woman was back and, following closeby, was Jaela, in what was probably her nightgown underneath a warm fur overdress. She looked rather disheveled, but it was probably because she had been awoken in the middle of the night; then again, Lihan was convinced that his own appearance was way worse, in that moment. 

The two women approached the bed, positioning themselves at each side.

“I came to you as soon as I found him awake, milady.” Said the nurse.

“You did well, Kila.” Jaela leaned slightly towards Lihan. “Mh, it’s just like back then.” She commented, then addressing the girl once again. “Get him some water.”

“Yes, milady.” With that, the younger woman was off, fast paces down the hall outside. Jaela sat on the bed, fishing a linen handkerchief from her robe and gently wiping Lihan’s soaking wet forehead.

“You stink.” 

He frowned, but didn’t try to reply.

“Dhante told me what happened. You two made a mess, but did a nice job.”

That’s when it hit him: the fire mage, where was he?

“Is he--” He coughed uncontrollably “--is he alright?”

“Yes, just a bit shaken. He is resting.”

“And-- and the old man?”

“Guarded. He wants to speak with you, as soon as you’ve recovered. He’s taking care of the little one.”

Another recollection: he remembered holding the small creature in his arms right before collapsing. All of a sudden, he was taken over by a sudden need to run out of bed and go look for it, as if he believed it was in danger without him. 

“I need to see him.” 

Jaela was puzzled. “Master Hreloth? I don’t think you’ve recovered yet.” 

“No, not the old man,  _ Aegonyr. _ ”

“Lihan…” She murmured, her eyes fixated on his. He looked like a lunatic. “Who is Aegonyr?” 

Smokeblade stared back at her, his lips parted in an unspoken sentence. 

He gave her the answer.

  
  


Jaela stormed through the halls of Vera with fast steps, her auburn hair waving like fire, mimicking the torches on the walls, while her robe danced around her feet and behind her. She made her way through the castle, almost waking every single person she walked past the room of, but she didn’t care. Her target was on the first floor. She reached it in mere minutes. The same old wooden doors and stone walls she almost knew like the back of her hand raced past her and she had a light layer of sweat on her skin when she knocked on the door, the two guards outside eyeing her curiously after the proper greeting. She didn’t even wait for an answer and barged right in. 

Inside the not too big bedroom, illuminated by a small fireplace and a few candles, Master Hreloth sat at a table, looking slightly annoyed at the small ball of dark crimson scales in front of him. A few inches away, the other stone-like egg laid motionless, emitting a faint blue hue. The old man lifted his gaze and removed his thick-looking glasses when he heard the young woman come in so violently. 

“Oh, milady! To what do I owe the pleasure?” He asked, slowly and shakily trying to get up to greet her properly.

Jaela took a moment to look at the small creature: it looked alive, but very much asleep. It was rising and lowering slowly, it was breathing _. _

“He’s awake, master.” She said, panting, barely taking her eyes away.

“Good! Could you tell him I’ll visit him in the morning? I was about to head to bed.”

“No, master. He wants to see you now.” She shot him a serious look. “He’s asking for  _ Aegonyr. _ ” 

“And who might that be?” He looked confused.

Jaela turned her gaze back to the small creature on the table. “His child.”

 

When the young woman and the old man walked in the infirmary, they found Lihan already sitting up straight on the bed, as if he had been waiting with perfect composure. As soon as he spotted them, his eyes lit up. 

“Here we are.” Jaela announced, approaching the bed.

Master Hreloth held the creature in both hands, a bundle of linen towels around it, cradling it with care. “You wanted to see me, lord Smokeblade?” 

“Give him to me.” Lihan immediately said. There was a moment of hesitation. The old man’s face fell a little. In the absence of an alternative and guessing his best, he slowly and goofily let the creature down onto the bed, placing it a few inches from Lihan’s feet. 

The King of Cliffs reached forward a little, his hand extended until his fingertips brushed against the hard scales and elastic skin. 

It was like a breath of life had been blown into the small creature: at first, it seemingly enlarged, as if it had taken a really deep breath; then, two small wings lifted from its back, separating themselves from the skin almost like they had been encrusted into it. A long tail -almost the same length as the whole body- poked towards the outside, before slithering from side to side, ultimately bumping into Lihan’s blanket-covered foot, to which it latched on for a few seconds. With a low huff, the dragon lifted its head, golden eyes blinking fast as two vertical pupils attempted to focus on what they were seeing.

As soon as it saw Lihan, it started making its way towards him on the bed, slowly, using its four little, clawed paws to waddle to him. It was the size of a rather large kitten, and its dark scales almost glimmered in the light of the torches. Once it reached the young man’s chest, he picked it up so it was nested in his arms.

“ _ Aegonyr. _ ” He murmured, looking down at the dragon.

Jaela was quite shocked. “How did you know its name?” 

“I…” She noticed how Lihan could barely get his eyes off of the newborn. 

“I just knew.”

“How is that even possible?” The girl asked, turning towards the master. 

“Do you know?”

Hreloth shook his head. “The only knowledge I have about these creatures comes from old texts, I have never seen one up close, nor have I ever met a human who knew how to hatch a dragon egg. I am deeply sorry, milady.”

Jaela nodded. “Worry not, master. Your help is much appreciated.”

“Why exactly are you helping us?” Lihan’s question came quick and cold, unexpected. His icy blue eyes were staring right at the old man, while he gently stroked the head of the dragon in his lap, which was emitting low snorts and peeps. “You were the councillor of Kalel Reinar just yesterday, were you not?”

The old man inhaled slowly. “My lord, if it had not been for you and your warlock I would have died in that tower along the former king’s men. You saved my life. Furthermore, the reason I had joined the young Reinar heir was to rebuild the world we lived in before the queen took charge. I believe you’re after the same objective.”

Lihan held the master’s gaze. Something in his pale green irises didn’t quite convince him. He decided he would have kept an eye on him, since he was probably going nowhere any time soon. 

Sensing some tension, Jaela glared at Lihan. “You don’t have to justify yourself, master. You’ve been under enough pressure already. Please, come. I’ll escort you back to your room and we’ll leave lord Smokeblade to rest.”

The old man thanked her, and soon they were out of the infirmary, but not before the woman had shot one last, worried glance at Lihan, who had gone back to cuddling his dragon.

 

**_\--------_ **

  
  


Jaela woke up that morning feeling even more tired than she’d felt in the middle of the night before. The middle aged rebel woman who had knocked on her door had tried to be as gentle as possible, but her head still pounded with a heavy headache, probably due to the lack of sleep. In fact, Jaela had not gotten too much rest; the image of the men carrying Lihan, unconscious on the back of a horse, back to Vera had been behind her eyelids all night, every once in a while exchanging places with Smokeblade sitting on his bed, sweaty and covered in burns, petting a small dragon. 

Jaela crawled out of the covers, standing up only to feel herself lose balance. Luckily she didn’t even need the help of the other woman in the room, as she quickly recovered. She went to sit at the small table on the other side of the room, and stared at herself in the makeshift mirror she had gotten months earlier. Her long hair was covering most of her face, so she grabbed her brush.

“Do you need anything else, milady?” Asked the woman.

“No. Thank you, Mhea.”

As soon as she had left the room, Jaela took to taming her hair. She did her left side first, combing and then arranging the auburn mess into a comfortable braid that she pinned back. Her eyes travelled to the mirror once again and she suddenly found herself in front of the two sides of a freak.

Her left side was perfect: skin like porcelain, full pink lips and one bright green eye, while her right side looked like something out of a nightmare: messy hair framed the burnt visage of a monster, with a dull, almost white iris. 

She looked like one of the Queen’s soldiers.

Jaela thought about using her magic once again, hiding her scars and her past with the touch of a finger. She even lifted her hand, bringing it closer to the charred skin until, underneath the tip of her index finger, was soft pink skin.

For the first time in over a year, she felt weak. 

Her hand retracted as if she had been burnt by the same flames that had caused her scars, which were now visible again. Quickly, she went back to combing and soon she was ready.

 

It didn’t take her long to be back to the infirmary door, which she opened quickly. The sight of Lihan’s empty bed made her heart jump. She was already imagining the worst. She rushed out, running as fast as the could down the halls, clutching the dagger on her side, ready to strike. Had the medics not checked for bites? He had been near a horde, for Goddess’ sake, he could’ve had infected the whole fort by now, and where in the five lands was that dragon? 

She stopped in her tracks right after passing the gate to the courtyard. She stepped back. There he was. 

In the section of the yard dedicated to training, it being a large space with a few hay targets and mannequins surrounded by a low wooden fence, Lihan stood, but not exactly still. The man had not one, but two swords in his hands, and almost looked like he was dancing with them. Jaela had no idea who had let him get a new set of armour or those blades, but there he was, seemingly perfectly fine -though a few steps he took weren’t exactly stable-, practicing away and hacking at the air around him, parrying invisible blows and dodging nonexistent cleaves as if his life depended on it. The light and comfortable armour he was wearing pulled back at the neck at one moment, and underneath the leather Jaela saw the burns were almost fully gone. She didn’t know what she was expecting. Finally sheathing her dagger, she approached him. 

“Are you sure you should be doing this?” She asked, quietly perplexed.

Smokeblade stopped immediately, letting out a big exhale as a droplet of sweat fell from his curly hair down into the dust and snow below. 

“I’m fine.” Was all he said, stepping away to set the swords down against a wooden log nearby. When he leaned towards it, Jaela noticed what was on top of it. In a wicker basket, wrapped in a blanket, the dragon Aegonyr rested soundly, huffing and puffing in a way that closely resembled snoring. 

“The burns disappear with the scales, remember?” Jaela was taken away from eyeing the creature when he spoke again. She looked at him while he wiped his forehead with a piece of cloth. 

“I just thought the medics had told you to rest.” She replied.

“I did rest. The whole night.” 

She scowled. “You know you can’t exhaust yourself, Lihan. Please.” 

He arched an eyebrow. “I have never felt better. Trust me.” 

Jaela glared at him for a second. She couldn’t even fathom how he seemed to not feel the chilling cold at all. “Have you talked to Master Hreloth again?”

“No.” Lihan had turned his back on her, picking up one of the swords and running a finger on the flat of the blade. “Should I?”

“Listen, I know you don’t trust him.” The young woman stepped forward. “But he can help you. He still has the other egg.” 

Smokeblade froze. “The other egg?”

“There were two, remember? Goddess,  _ you _ brought them here.”

“I know, I just…” He paused. “I thought the other one had been crashed.”

Before she could reply, he had grabbed the basket and rushed past her towards the entrance. Jaela had to take a deep breath to calm down.

“He’s a rough one, isn’t he?” A young man’s voice said from behind her. She turned to see Dhante. 

“He has his moments.”

“Oh, I know.” The fire mage grinned jokingly. “And I am  _ so _ not sorry for you.”

 

Lihan ran through the castle, Aegonyr squealing lightly at every turn, having been awakened by the sheer speed the young man was travelling at. Smokeblade had a hand in the basket to comfort the dragon, trying to apologize to him as best as he could. Since he did not know where the master’s room was, he asked the first person he found: a naren man with a full beard, which was the only thing Lihan remembered him by seconds later.

He was too focused on his target, and he basically flew up the first set of stairs he found, looking around at every corner. Eventually, he saw the two guards on duty outside a door and he deduced he had reached his destination. 

“Lord Smokeblade,” One of them addressed him, while the other bowed his head. “I’m afraid Master Hreloth is still asleep.” It was rather early in the morning after all, and the old man had been awake for most of the night before. He didn’t care.

“He has something that belongs to me. Let me through.”

The guards exchanged a puzzled look, but then opened the door for him, though not losing sight of him even after he entered. 

The old man, as presumed, was still in bed, his long beard resting upon the covers as he snored loudly. Lihan stood at a few meters away from him, basket in hand. He looked down and noticed Aegonyr looking up at him, so he picked him up and let him nest himself onto his shoulder, tiny claws gripping tightly on the leather pauldron. The dragon eyed the elderly man curiously with his golden gaze. Lihan cleared his throat loudly, which made Hreloth’s eyes flutter open. When he saw the rebel chief of Kar, he jerked upwards. 

“Goddess, my lord! You startled me.” 

Lihan didn’t bother apologizing. “Where’s the other egg?”

Hreloth seemed confused at first, then he apparently realised. “It’s right there on the table. I was to bring it to you this morning in the infirmary, but I’m glad to see you’re already up and about!” He cheerfully said.

The younger man was already all over the round stone. He picked it up, staring at it, observing how the light coming from it illuminated his hand softly.

“Why hasn’t this one hatched?” He asked, or rather, demanded.

Sitting up and then slowly getting out of the bed, the master replied: “I was hoping you could tell me. The fire mage said you came out of the cave with…” His eyes rested on the dragon on Lihan’s shoulder. “ _ Aegny,  _ is it?”

“Aegonyr.”

“Yes, of course, Aegonyr, already in your hands.” He paused. “While we’re on the subject, may I ask you why you picked that name?”

Lihan looked at the creature, who nuzzled his chin with its head. “I just knew.”

“Well, do you know its meaning?”

The rebel shook his head.

“In a very ancient language, dating back to the worship of the old gods, it means  _ ‘bringer of agony’. _ ”

The dragon made a squeaking sound.

“I see.” Said Lihan. “He likes it.” 

The master chuckled underneath his moustache. “Anyways, I don’t know why the second one hasn’t been born yet. Maybe if you told me what happened in that cave it could help me understand more about the process of hatching.”

Smokeblade began to recall the events of the day before. “I went back inside when I noticed the egg had fallen from my bag.” He explained. “Some sort of explosive substance went off with the flames and I immediately ran out. I… I think the flames got to me before I escaped.”

“And you still survived. Lady Jaela told me about your impressive magical abilities.” Hreloth stroked his beard, then he suddenly laid his eyes on Aegonyr. “May I see him up close?”

It took a moment of hesitation for Lihan to say yes.

The elderly man approached and stared the dragon up and down, while the creature followed his every movement with attentive eyes. 

“If my supposition is correct, our little Aegonyr here is a fire dragon.”

“So he would have hatched because of the explosion?”

“It’s the most logical explanation, yes.”

Lihan used a finger to scratch lightly at the dragon’s head, his lips curved in a small smile. “And how can we make the other one hatch?”

“If dragons are born around their natural element, we would just need to find out what this one’s is and then expose the egg to it. I have a scrying process I could try.” 

“We’re assuming it isn’t another fire dragon, then?”

“It’s highly improbable, yes.”

“Very well.” Lihan handed the egg to the old man. “Thank you, Master Hreloth. I’m leaving this one in your hands.” Then, he stepped towards the door.

“And one last thing.” He said while turning the handle, and looked over his shoulder, the dragon mimicking him. “If you do anything you shouldn’t you’ll be Aegonyr’s meal for the rest of your life.” And with that, he was gone.

Master Hreloth froze in place, gulping. Then, he regained his composure.

“Better get to work, then.”

  
  


With nothing better to do, Lihan decided to go back in the courtyard and train more. Stepping outside, he immediately spotted Dhante in the practice range. The warlock had his staff in one hand, while the other conjured flames that danced around him, as if he’d been juggling them, before propelling them forth towards a target with speed and precision. Lihan thought he would have set fire to the whole castle, but he was surprised to discover that, right when the flaming projectiles were about to hit the inflammable hay of the targets, they were quick to turn themselves off, disappearing in thin air. The pyromancer surely had an immense control over his magic.

Smokeblade approached the fence and recovered his swords, the metallic sound causing Dhante to turn around. 

“You’re back.” He stated.

Lihan nodded, placing the flat of one of his swords on his free shoulder, nodding towards the targets. “Instead of burning this whole place down, why don’t you train with me?” 

The mage turned to face him, leaning his weight onto his surprisingly sturdy staff. “You’d rather burn yourself?”

Lihan chuckled under his breath, while he placed a hand on the wooden fence and Aegonyr climbed down from his shoulder and onto it, eyeing the both of them curiously. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m pretty resistant to flames.”

“Oh, I know, but it would be a shame to burn off that perfectly fine armor.” Dhante commented, arching one eyebrow with a smirk. “You’d have to fight me naked.”

Lihan stepped into the range. “Wouldn’t you just love that.”

The fire mage was already preparing a fireball in his hand. He threw it forward, but Lihan lept to a side quickly. The bolt disappeared before it could get out of the perimeter and hurt someone. 

“Y’know, to burn my armor you’d actually have to hit me.” Lihan commented, spinning one of his swords in a circle. 

“And to beat me you’d actually have to get close.” Dhante was quick to reply, immediately turning his staff around and tracing a wide circle around himself, which soon enough caught fire, creating a protective wall. 

_ Smart. _ Lihan dodged another projectile by starting to run to a side. His plan was to spiral towards the mage and to knock the staff out of his hands. Dhante was right though, he had to get close to be able to do anything.

Smokeblade sprinted in the snow and dirt, partially being slowed down even though the flames flying all around him were quick to melt the ice. The warlock was throwing bolt after bolt, swinging his wooden staff quickly as he had done before, but Lihan was catching up rapidly, covering more and more distance. 

Suddenly, the mage saw a rotating blade inching closer to him. The other man had really thrown one of his swords at him.  _ Shit. _ He ducked quickly, but when he got back up, he couldn’t see Lihan anymore. Smokeblade had in fact gotten behind him, and the mage had barely turned around when a blade was at his neck and a hand had stripped the staff from his grip, holding it away from him. Lihan stood there, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, full beard almost poking the other man’s chin, and Dhante could feel his breath on his lips. They were inches apart. Something felt hot.

A fireball exploded from Dhante’s free hand, hitting Lihan right on his right shoulder and pushing him back. The rebel chief of Kar fell on his back in the half-melted snow with a grunt, Dhante’s staff rolling away but not too far.

The mage realized what he had done. “SHIT! I’m sorry!” He exclaimed as he approached the other man to help him. “Are you alright?!”

Lihan sat up, slowly but surely, holding his injured shoulder. “Yes, yes I am, don’t worry.” 

“Fuck, I didn’t mean to do that, I just... “ Dhante blurted out “I don’t know what got into me.”

“It’s alright, really.” Lihan cackled. “I guess it’s a tie.”

Dhante smirked, offering the other man a hand. “Yeah, sure. I call that a win.” Suddenly, a loud screech filled the air. Lihan looked up to see Aegonyr charging at full speed towards the fire mage.

“Wait, no!” He yelled, sensing his intentions, but the dragon had his maw already open, ready to attack. 

“Watch out!” With a swift move, Lihan pushed himself above Dhante, rolling in the snow so that he was on top of the mage, shielding him with his whole body. He expected to feel some sort of sensation on his back, but instead he saw Aegonyr flying above him, circling above the training range. When he looked back down, he found himself in front of a very flushed Dhante. In the moment, he associated it to the fight they had just been in, and yet, feeling some awkwardness, he cleared his throat quickly before getting off of him and back up onto his feet, lending the mage a hand to help him up as well. 

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine, really.” Dhante gargled out, getting up and quickly recovering his staff from the ground. “I’m…” He started, strangely avoiding eye contact. “I’m gonna go and… Freshen up. Thanks for the training.” And with that, he was off, leaving Lihan pretty confused at what had just happened. He looked up in time to see Aegonyr descending to land on the shoulder that had not been hit with a fire spell. The dragon nuzzled Lihan’s cheek with his usual, low squeal.

“He didn’t mean any harm, Aegonyr.” Explained the rebel, staring at his golden eyes. “Don’t ever attack my friends again, are we clear?”

The small creature lowered its head, seemingly understanding and being sorry for it, and Lihan felt sort of bad for scolding him like that, but then again, it could have all gone much worse. He caressed his head, with a sigh.

From the scaffold above, Narth had watched the whole scene with terror.

 

Lunchtime had been pretty uneventful. Lihan had spent it sitting at one of the long tables in the main hall, munching the rather tasteless soup the cooks had made; not that he blamed them, they weren’t actual cooks and the whole situation had been pretty makeshift since the outbreak, and he was used to that. During his time in the woods, he had learned that any kind of food he could get was more than sufficient. 

Though he knew requests were hard to satisfy, he had asked the kitchen for some leftover meat or something similar, and he had been lucky enough to get it, mostly due to his  _ authority _ , or so it seemed. 

Aegonyr was on the table in front of him, devouring the few pieces of discarded deer from the night before and he seemed rather pleased, or perhaps just very hungry. Lihan only hoped the dragon would soon learn how to hunt for himself. He wondered if he would have had to teach him.

How could he even train a dragon?

When he finished his bowl of soup and washed it down with some warm mead, Smokeblade wondered where everyone else was. Well, the hall was pretty packed, but none of the people he actually knew were there. He had not seen Narth since before leaving for the mission, Jaela and the old master were nowhere to be seen and even Dhante, who usually seemed to like social contexts, had apparently disappeared into thin air. 

Lihan’s mind immediately ran back to their training earlier that morning. Instinctively, he glanced at the half-burnt shoulder of his armor. It looked fine, at least it still held together, so he didn’t worry too much, but Dhante’s reaction and overall demeanor after he had hit him still had Lihan puzzled. 

_ “I FOUND IT!” _ A voice yelled suddenly, echoing on the walls of the large hall. Everyone turned to see where it came from. Lihan lifted his head. At the bottom of the stairs leading to the eastern tower, Master Hreloth stood, flailing his arms in his direction.  _ “MY LORD!”  _ He shouted again, though sounding a bit shaky.  _ “I FOUND IT!” _

It took him a moment, but Lihan finally understood what he was talking about. He immediately grabbed Aegonyr and ran to the old man. 

“The scrying worked!” Hreloth exclaimed once he reached him, them heading back upstairs. Lihan followed him. “I exposed the egg to different alchemical elements. Well, the ones I had or could find at arm’s reach, anyway.” Quickly enough, they were back in the old man’s study. 

“What did you discover?”

“I think you’ll be pleased, my lord.” He pointed a finger at the table he had been working on. Resting on the wooden surface were countless items and piles of materials, but what immediately caught Lihan’s eye was the egg, nested atop of a small heap of white, slowly melting snow. He noticed how the hard shell had one more crack in it. 

“I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it earlier!” Master Hreloth was more than enthusiastic. “It’s ice! Of course it’s ice!” He giggled gleefully underneath his beard.

Lihan shared a little of his zest. “So all we need is to put it in the snow outside?” He asked, stepping closer to examine it and wondering if the blue hue had gotten stronger. 

“I’m afraid that’s not going to cut it, my lord.” The master shook his head.

Smokeblade frowned. “Why not?”

“The snow I used for the experiment was much more than what you see now.”

Upon closer inspection, as a matter of fact, the wood surrounding the egg was drenched, sign of the ice melting onto it. 

“Perhaps snow that has been underneath the sun isn’t cold enough.” 

“What’s colder than ice and snow?” 

The master paused, thoughtful. “I might have the answer you seek, but it could be dangerous for you, my lord.”

“More dangerous than walking through flames?”

“I don’t suppose you’re resistant to ice cold water, are you?”

Lihan connected the dots. “I’m not. But I don’t care. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Hesitant at first, the old man then sighed. “The Great Sea in the north-east is the coldest accessible water you’ll find.”

“Why not go straight to the north?” 

“The cliffs are too high up there, you’d have to climb down.”

The idea of descending rocks in chilling cold temperatures didn’t really entice Lihan, who imagined himself also having to climb back up, probably soaking wet and freezing to death. He gulped lightly.

“I guess we’ll have to hope north-east is enough.” And with that, he grabbed a bag from the master’s wardrobe and stuffed the dripping egg in it, then tying it to his belt. It weighed a fair bit, but not too much to be a burden. 

He was on his way out, when Hreloth stopped him. “Don’t die out there, my lord. These men and women need you.  _ Tha’Kari needs you. _ ”

Lihan’s blue eyes glimmered with determination. “I won’t let myself die.”

And he was gone. 

 

Dhante opened his door after he heard knocking and found Lihan standing in front of him, two swords sheathed on each side, Aegonyr sitting on his left shoulder, staring at him with a challenging look.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Come.”

“Well, I’d love to get dinner before that, but--”

“We’re going to hatch the second egg. Come with me.”

Dhante furrowed his eyebrows. “Wait, you know how to do that?”

Lihan was already halfway down the hallway. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” The mage grabbed his coat and his staff and followed him. 

They got a few supplies from the kitchen and a tent from the storeroom. The journey wasn’t supposed to be long, but they didn’t want to be stuck in a blizzard with no food and no shelter.

As soon as they got on their horses, Jaela came storming out of the fort. 

“Just what in the Goddess’ name are you doing?!” She roared.

“Master Hreloth told me how to hatch the egg. We’re headed north-east.”

“Oh, so now you trust him?” Jaela frowned. “Good. But why north-east? There’s nothing there!”

“It needs the cold water.”

She took a deep breath. “Please tell me you’re not going to bathe in ice cold water with it.”

Lihan arched an eyebrow. “And should I just let it sink to the bottom of the sea and leave it to die?” 

Jaela took a moment to reply. Though she was furious that he’d even consider going out on another mission before he could have recovered from the previous one, he knew there was no convincing him to send someone else.

She stared up at the man with her green eye and her pale one. 

“You come back awake this time, you hear?!”

Lihan gave her a small smile. “I’ll be fine.”

 

**_\--------_ **

 

They had been galloping for a few hours when they reached the point where the Naren tundra gave way to the icy shores of the north-east. The sun that had accompanied their uneventful journey was setting behind the trees of a forest nearby. Since it was their first time stopping, Dhante and Lihan hadn’t really talked all afternoon. While Lihan set up the tent and left Aegonyr inside to sleep, the fire mage took a long, satisfying piss in the snow. He sighed when he was done, then turning to the other rebel. He was about to ask a question.

“We need wood for the fire. I’ll go get it.” Lihan said, unsheathing one of his swords and surpassing the warlock to get to a few scattered trees nearby. 

Dhante watched him walk away for a bit, then cursed under his breath and quickly tied the horses down and went after the other man. 

“Hey! Wait!” Since it was getting dark rapidly, his staff was lit like a torch.

“What?” Lihan asked, not looking back. 

“For starters, you could tell me what’s going on.” 

“I told you. We’re going to hatch the egg.”

“How? With water?” 

“Exactly.”

“How does that even work?” 

“Aegonyr was born from fire, which is his natural element.”

Dhante paused. “Alright, that makes sense.”

“Why else would I have brought you all the way out here?”

“Oh, I don’t know… To brutally murder me? You didn’t get the chance today.”

Lihan stopped in his tracks, turning to glare at the mage.

“I’m just kidding! I trust you.” 

He found himself admitting it and he was surprised, if not shocked. Him? Dhante?  _ Trusting  _ someone other than himself? That was quite a step forward. But Lihan didn’t seem to notice anything. Not that he could have known.

The two of them finally reached the trees and Lihan began chopping the smallest branches down, hoping they would be enough. He had cut down the ones he could reach in three different trees, when he heard something that immediately caused him to look around. In the darkness outside of Dhante’s torch, he could see little to nothing. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Lihan shushed him.  _ Again?! _ He had a finger on his lips. his other hand holding the sword ahead of him. Dhante understood and began looking around as well. It was strange. The groans and moans of the undead seemed far away, but they couldn’t pinpoint the exact location. Furthermore, the sounds didn’t seem to get any closer. 

“Shit.” Dhante murmured suddenly. Lihan turned around and saw what he was looking at. The fire mage was staring at the direction they had come from, more precisely at their camp, where maybe half a dozen of undead were slowly marching towards their horses.

Lihan was already running, both swords unsheathed. Dhante followed close, preparing a fireball which he readily flung over at the corpse of a man that was mere feet from his steed. The bolt caused its head to explode, and the body fell down limp in the snow. 

Smokeblade was onto two of the undead, which turned towards him when they smelled him. With a quick blow, he pierced the head of the first one and then twirled around to slice the second one’s in half. 

When the tent came into his view,  in the dim light of the fire engulfing the body of the undead soldier taken down by Dhante, Lihan spotted with terror that one of the living corpses was trying to go for it, presumably smelling Aegonyr inside. The man had never run so fast in his entire life. Much alike the two before it, the corpse fell down when Lihan sank one of his blades in its head. 

He was still recovering from the run when another undead fell on him. Smokeblade found himself lying on his back, fighting with the cadaver on top of him. He noticed how a sword had stabbed it right in the heart, and its tip stuck out of its chest. He now had to avoid a bite and a cut, as a blade covered in infected blood could still kill him. He couldn’t see Dhante, but he could hear him fighting somewhere else. The more he tried to push the undead away, the more he realized just how weak he was. Jaela was right. He should have been resting. 

He let out one final roar as he pushed upwards one last time. Then, the corpse’s head caught on fire, immediately after exploding due to the heat. Finally, the weight of the undead fell onto him, and he had no strength left. He felt the rusty blade pierce his right shoulder and winced in pain. 

Before passing out, he felt Aegonyr’s muzzle nudging his forehead.

 

Lihan woke up from a dreamless sleep with a gasp. He recognized what probably was the interior of the tent, and he saw Dhante sitting next to him, hands over his shoulder. He felt a warm sensation on his skin and only then did he remember his wound. 

“It’s… Hopeless…” He murmured, still half-asleep. 

The fire mage shook his head, and Lihan noticed how swollen his eyes were.

“It’s not. I examined the body. That sword is what killed that man, the blood was not infected at the time.” Dhante’s voice was raspy.

“How… How can you know?”

“His armor. And the sword itself. They were both very old. The style, the carvings, they came from a time long before Queen Maryon’s.” He paused. “Trust me.”

Lihan looked up at the warlock. If he thought he was infected, he probably wouldn’t have brought him inside the tent. He would have killed him immediately. Smokeblade nodded. “Fine.” 

Dhante was so glad to hear that.

“What are you doing?” Lihan asked, eyeing the mage’s hands over his wound.

“Sterilizing it. That sword wasn’t infected, but it was pretty rusty.”

The injured man leaned his head back down. “Thank you for saving my life. Again.”

There was silence. “I didn’t.”

Lihan looked at him, puzzled. 

“He did.” The mage nodded his head towards the sleeping dragon next to him.

“I…” His voice seemed to crack for a second. “I actually almost killed you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your armor. The sword pierced right through the burn I caused back during our training. Shit. I’m so sorry.”

Lihan remembered. And yet, he couldn’t find an ounce of anger inside of himself. “It’s not your fault, it was just… Bad luck, I guess.”

“There’s no place for bad luck in a world like this.” Dhante replied. “Either you’re smart enough to survive or you don’t.” He lifted his hands and the warmth was gone. In its place, the gash caused by the sword was covered in opalescent scales. Probably due to the flames.

Both of them silently hoped it would be enough to stop an infection.

Dhante got up and stepped outside. Lihan knew he had to follow him. Fighting the pain and wrapping a few furs around his torso, he got out of the tent, finding the mage sitting on an horizontal log next to the fire. Smokeblade sat next to him and noticed he had his pipe in his hand, but it was shaking too much for him to be able to put tobacco in it. The rebel decided to sacrifice some of the heat of the fur coat he had on to wrap one side around the mage’s shoulder. Then, he took the pipe from his shivering fingers and, without really knowing what he was doing, put the dried leaves in it himself, finally handing it back. Dhante lit it with a small flame and took a long drag.

“You shouldn’t be out here. You’ll freeze.”

“I’m getting ready for tomorrow.” Lihan shrugged. “And you don’t look so hot, either.”

A small chuckle, soon suffocated. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, really. I’ve been worse.”

Dhante sighed, passing the pipe to him.

“Thank you.” The taste entering his lungs felt relaxing, soothing, almost as if it belonged in there. Lihan looked up at the clear sky, noticing just how many stars could be seen in the complete dark of the wilderness. It reminded him of his nights in the forests of Kar. He puffed out, smoke rising into the dark and intertwining itself with the one from the campfire.

“Why do you think she did it?” He asked.

Dhante hesitated. “I don’t know.” He took another drag. “But I don’t care. It needs to be over. We will rebuild this world, we will stop her. We are the resistance, they are the occupation. Occupation never wins.” There was a certain harshness in his tone, and it was completely understandable. Lihan found himself staring at him while he spoke. He turned his gaze to the flames ahead of him. 

“We should go to bed.” 

Dhante nodded.

 

That night, the fire mage laid awake. The guilt still gnawed at his chest, thoughts of self-loathing poking at the back of his mind, a place he rarely accessed willingly, but that always seemed to come back, one way or the other. The only sound he could hear in the tent was the light breeze blowing outside; they had been lucky not to get a strong wind from the sea. A soft snore came from the small dragon huddled in the corner, wrapped in the covers. Dhante turned onto one side to see Lihan sleeping soundlessly underneath the heavy furs. When he was asleep, he noticed, he looked way more peaceful. Perhaps in his dreams he found the comfort that waking reality had stopped giving him a long time ago, perhaps he was reliving happier memories, reminiscing of the times before the outbreak; the ones he could recall, at least. He felt sorry for the man next to him, as if his amnesia could have somehow been his own fault. He sighed at the inner workings of his brain and eventually weariness took over, letting him slip into the numbness of the night.

 

**_\--------_ **

 

At dawn, the sun reflected its first rays onto the Great Sea, which expanded endlessly on the horizon. If one did not look to their right or left, but only kept their eyes fixated ahead, one could believe that was the edge of the world. Just an unending stretch of cold water, meeting an unforgiving land with hard sand mixed with rock, snow and ice. It was quite beautiful, really. Dhante and Lihan stood on the beach, taking in the sight. Aegonyr, after his morning meal, had decided to stretch his wings and fly about in circles for a while, though Lihan was sure he could feel the tension in the air.

The sky was clear again, which promised a safe journey back with no risk of getting caught in heavy snowfalls. They had to seize the day and the good weather, before the whole process could have become even more difficult and harsh on the body. Lihan began unbuckling his belt. He handed his swords to Dhante and the two rebels’ gazes aligned. Determination in the blue met quiet worry in the brown. Then the fire mage fished the egg out of the bag, while Smokeblade undid the fastens on his pauldron and took off his damaged chestpiece and undershirt. The scales on his shoulder had left place to a pinkish scar. Dhante saw the dragon tattoo on his back and was surprised, but didn’t quite know why. Had he just been imagining Lihan to have an inkless back? Had he been imagining him at all? He felt himself getting uncomfortable at the thought, but forced himself to focus on the task at hand.

Smokeblade took off his boots and his bare feet made contact with the cold ground. He shivered, but tried not to show it. The cold air ran in and out of his lungs quickly, but he strained himself to take a deep breath, and convinced himself he was only shaking because of the cold. 

Finally, Dhante handed him the egg, and he took the first step towards the water. A small wave inched closer, until the chilling Great Sea touched the King of Cliffs’ foot. He flinched, but kept going. Aegonyr observed from above.

The water was up to his calves. He felt his muscles tensing up. 

When it reached his hips, he was gritting his teeth. 

When it reached his chest, it felt like the air was being knocked out of him, while billions of knives made their way into his skin, slowly and quickly at the same time. He was up to his shoulders, the egg in front of his face, when he compelled himself to take a dive.

His eyes were closed, his hearing was muffled, his whole body was rigid. Even though the sun was rising, everything was dark around him. 

Nothing was happening. 

 

Dhante stood on the beach, impatient. It had been minutes since Lihan’s head had disappeared underneath the surface of the sea. He didn’t even think it would be that deep, so close to the shore. Aegonyr landed next to him on the sand, squeaking lightly, calling out to his father. 

 

It was like slowly falling asleep, but being strangely aware of it. Lihan felt his senses go out one by one, and soon enough he couldn’t even feel the cold anymore. He felt himself get heavier and heavier, like a stone sinking deep into an ocean. 

Suddenly, he felt his back against a concrete ground, and then his hearing and his smell came back. He heard the tumbling rocks, the bubbling sea, the breath through gritted teeth, the raindrops, the singing, the buzzing, the drumming, the voice calling to him. 

Something in his mind told him he had experienced all of this before, and it was then that the taste of rotting flesh came back as well. It was even stronger than before.  _ Open your eyes.  _ He told himself.  _ Open your eyes, get out of here. _

But nothing worked. He was about to puke again. His lungs were about to explode, his whole chest was.

Then, a breath of fresh air. 

Fresh.  _ Cold.  _ Air. 

He couldn’t hear the sounds anymore, there was just…The slow and steady sound of waves.

The horrible taste was gone, all his tongue sensed was salt.

And he was being dragged. No,  _ carried. _

He finally opened his eyes on the shore. Once again, Dhante was next to him, hands ablaze like molten steel, warming him up, trying to keep him from freezing to death.

When his sense of touch came back to his limbs, he realized he was no longer holding the egg in his hands. His eyes went to the mage and he felt them stinging, watering rapidly.

“It… Didn’t work…” He whispered.

But the warlock had an ecstatic look in his brown eyes. “What are you talking about?!” He then looked away from Lihan, but the other rebel couldn’t understand. 

Until he lifted his head.

On the edge of the beach, where the sand met the sea, was Aegonyr, and in front of him, an almost identical dragon mirrored his movements as they sniffed each other, before nudging each other’s necks in a sign of affection.

The other dragon was blue in hue and slightly smaller and more slender, but its wings looked more like fins, and its long tail ended with a tip resembling the one of a fish, or better yet, the one of the mythical creatures known as mermaids. Everything about it had a certain edge though, as if every bone in it was made out of ice: where the fire dragon had small stone-like horns poking out of his head, this one had ones made of a transparent material, almost like crystal. Nothing was smooth about the creature, and Lihan only now noticed just how different the two siblings were. They both represented their natural element perfectly.

Then, the newly born dragon turned its elegant head to look at him, and when  two silver-gray eyes focused on his, he knew her name.

“ _ Blyss.”  _ Lihan murmured, and the female dragon stepped towards him, sniffing him too for a bit, before eventually stroking her muzzle against his bare skin. Aegonyr joined them and, with one dragon on each side, Lihan felt something he had never felt before. The two small creatures climbed onto his shoulders and their claws didn’t even hurt him, though they were digging into his skin.

He turned to see Dhante down on his knees, his head bowed in reverence. 

“I bend my knee to thee,” Said the mage, quoting an old pledge he had read somewhere and somehow remembered, his mind pulling it back from the farthest recesses of his head. “If you’ll have me, I offer you my services as your guardian and councillor, from now until forever.” He paused. “My lord.”

Lihan didn’t quite know what to say. He had never seen the mage act that way. He didn’t know what that pledge was or what it meant, but it sounded regal, fit for a king. Smokeblade looked down at the warlock and for the first time he saw something in him, something that young man from Welos had probably never shown to anyone else. In that moment, he knew that Dhante was going to be a precious ally, a friend, a companion. And he wasn’t going to let that opportunity go.

“Stand up.” He finally replied. “We have a world to rebuild.”

 

**_\--------_ **

 

“Lady Jaela, Lord Smokeblade and the warlock are back.” The rebel chief of Naren got the news before dinner. Her heart immediately skipped a beat, dropping down into her stomach. She at least knew one of them had to be alive, otherwise they wouldn’t have returned at all. Remembering the last thing Lihan had told her before leaving the day before, she could only hope he had kept his word. She had never laced her coat so fast in her entire life.

Jaela ran down the stairs of the fort, noticing a small crowd was already gathering in the courtyard; rebels from both Narthe and Kar were coming together to see if one of their leaders was really back. Squeezing through and asking for people to let her pass -to which only some obliged- she made her way to the front of the rabble just in time to see the portcullis sliding open.

Behind it, both men were sitting straight up, each on his own horse. They were alright after all. Lihan, in particular, had some kind of an attitude: chin up, chest out, regally riding at a slow pace into the courtyard. Jaela did notice something though: the dragons were nowhere to be seen. 

Suddenly, as on cue, two flying beasts came down from the sky, each landing on one of Lihan’s shoulders. They were small still, but intimidating enough to startle the crowd, Jaela included. 

“Today, we have one more weapon to fight Maryon Reinar’s injust reign.” Lihan announced loudly, then turning his head to the fire dragon to his right. 

“This is Aegonyr. He will burn the undead soldiers until there is nothing more but ashes and bones for the White Queen to control.” As he said that, the dragon lifted his small head and opened his maw with a squeal, letting out a huff of flames. Next to him, his sister looked at him and then imitated him, though emitting a cold breath of wind. 

“This is Blyss. She will freeze those corpses solid, so that we can crush them into pieces so small no one will ever find them again.”

The rebels in front of him stood silent, some incredulous, some skeptic.

“They might be small, but they will grow. They’ll reach the size of this fort and when they finally will, we’ll be ready for a full offensive.”

“And what do we do until then?” Someone yelled from the back of the rabble.

Lihan was ready. “We rally the rebels in the other lands. We build an army with our brothers and sisters in the east, in the south and in the west. We gather more allies. We prepare. Give us a year, and this nightmare will be over.”

Silence ensued. Lihan hoped he had said the right things, that the rebels liked the plan, that they had not given up on their cause. He locked eyes with Jaela to see some kind of reaction, and he met determination and admiration.

“ _ Frostfire _ .” She said.

There was murmuring in the crowd.

“Frostfire!” She exclaimed, louder. More voices followed. 

_ “FROST-FIRE! FROST-FIRE! FROST-FIRE!”  _

The rebels were chanting, clapping; their voices showered the two rebels and the dragons in sound. Lihan turned to Dhante, who smirked at him. 

“It’s your name.” He said. 

_ Lihan Frostfire _ . The rebel chief of Kar smiled to himself.  _ It fit. _

 

**_\--------_ **

 

That night, Jaela had insisted they’d throw a grand feast to celebrate.

“I don’t wanna hear anything about leaving for the other lands until tomorrow!” She had said, half-jokingly, though Lihan knew she was serious. Obviously, she was happy about the victories they had been raking in lately, first against Kalel Reinar and then the dragons, but something told him that the motherly instinct which she had always shown towards him was still very present, and that she didn’t like him running around and risking his life all that much. It sort of made him laugh a little. It was kind of adorable, seeing her get mad like that. Of course, it was a serious matter, but Lihan was feeling invincible, that night. Sitting at one of the tables with Dhante and Narth at his side and with the knowledge of the two dragons sleeping soundly in his room upstairs, he let himself eat, drink and be merry. People even saw him smiling a little, which caused overall stupor, while Dhante laughed about it. He listened to the jokes and the stories, feasted on the -objectively poor- banquet, drank the mead and hummed along to the songs of the makeshift band of bards some of the rebels had formed. Not all of them were that good, but for once in his life, Lihan wanted to see the whole situation as a glass half full. 

The songs were delightful though, some were even funny, but in a way only bards can comprehend. He remembered one in particular, which told the story of a girl falling in love with a bear. Or was it the other way around? He voiced his questions to Narth, who raised his eyebrows and cackled.

“Too much mead will do that to you, my lord.” 

He wasn’t really sure if the comment was about the girl in the story or about him, but he didn’t really care. He was having a good time. 

When the upteenth cheerful song came to a close and the people stopped dancing, one man who was sitting on a stool raised a glass and proposed a calmer song about a heartbreaking romance between two star-crossed lovers.

He did get a few  _ boos _ and a bit of food thrown at him, but he didn’t seem to mind, as more musicians joined him. When they were ready, he started playing his lute, then beginning to sing.

 

_ “It’s been three years since I last saw you _

_ I had to leave beneath the moon _

_ My night, my day, my love, my friend, _

_ When will we meet again?” _

 

Then, a second man sang with him, while a fiddle accompanied them both with a simple melody.

 

_ “My lips, my hands, it’s you they miss _

_ Your heat, your touch, your searing kiss _

_ My daffodil, my summer rain _

_ When will we meet again?” _

 

Harmonies joined the melody, as a choir of more and more people merged into singing the song everybody seemed to know. Some of them were singing off-key, but the overall effect was eerily beautiful, as Lihan found himself immersed into this congregation of people who had lost everything and had found a second family there, while never forgetting who they were and what they had before. He was sure most of them were singing to loved ones they had had to say goodbye to, and they were asking when they would have met them again. Lihan heard a soft voice to his left, and he turned to see Dhante, enthralled in the music, whispering the song like a prayer. The choir echoed in the hall, and he felt a stirring in his chest: a bittersweet feeling he couldn’t really put his finger on. Was the song making him think about someone in his past? Maybe that’s why he couldn’t feel the music completely: he couldn’t fully relate to everyone else in the room. Though it was beautiful, he didn’t really have anyone to sing it to. Not that he liked to sing, anyways. But his brain was overthinking now. He debated whether to brush Dhante, to let him know he was there, but ultimately decided against it, as he didn’t want to interrupt the magic of the moment. The music got faster, the words louder. Everything grew and everyone was stomping their feet on the floor and their fists on the tables in time with the steady notes of the lute. Everyone sang the last verse together.

 

_ “And if I go in peace today _

_ By rope, by waves, by sword, by flames _

_ I’ll wait for you, just tell me when _

_ When will we meet again?” _

 

There was silence, and the first bard finished the song by himself, while everyone else remained in a state of respectful quiet.

 

_ “When will we meet again?” _

 

More silence. Lihan was sure he had heard a low sobbing, somewhere in the hall. Though its nature and melody, he didn’t see the song as just a catharsis for negative feelings. After all, what he had felt was bittersweet, not completely happy but not completely sad either. That’s when it hit him: the song wasn’t supposed to be a mournful lament, but a cherished memory of a time long past that people still remember with fondness, knowing that, even though their beloved are gone, they will meet them again one day. Lihan stood up, with the intention of giving a heartfelt speech about hope, promising to get the world they lived in before back, but when he was on his feet, he realised he had no words for that. Only actions. So he clapped.

Slow at first, then fast, energetically, meaning it from deep within.

People stared, but Narth got up as well, joining him. From then, more and more rebels stood, filling the hall with applause. The bards didn’t bow to their audience, as they instead clapped back to it. Lihan smiled genuinely. 

Everyone was hopeful. The cause was still alive.

Then, a guard stormed in from the main gate.

“Lady Jaela, Lord Frostfire! Come quick!” 

The entire hall turned to the man. Lihan spotted Jaela stepping away from her table, before eyeing him with a puzzled look. He rapidly approached her. 

“What is going on?” She asked the guard as he led them both outside.

“The archers saw someone getting closer to the fort, milady.”

“An undead?” Lihan questioned.

“If it is an undead, it’s the biggest one we’ve seen. We wanted to wait for your orders before we took it down.”

The three of them stepped out into the cold of the night. Lihan had noticed earlier that evening how heavy clouds had finally been gathering above them, but he wasn’t expecting the snow that was starting to fall; it was the beginning of a blizzard, anyone could see that. It was a miracle how the guards had even spotted this stranger. 

Jaela and Lihan were brought up onto the walkway above the external wall, where they both squinted in the darkness, until they finally saw, upon getting it pointed out by the guards, a black mass inching closer and closer to the main gate. 

“Could it be a controlled agent?” One of the archers said.

“The controlled ones always attack in troops.” Explained Lihan, who saw something alarmingly familiar in the shape that stood now only a few yards away. “Wait.”

“What?” Jaela said. 

In the light of the torches, they all saw a glimmer on the figure. Something metallic. A sword.

“It’s armed. Knock!” The lady of Vera ordered, and the archers all lifted their readied bows.

“WAIT!” Roared Lihan, straining his eyes to see better. The sword was aimed at the ground, used as support.

“They’re wounded.” He breathed out. “Let them come closer.”

Jaela was visibly skeptic, but it was only a matter of seconds before the person came into better view, despite the snow, and Lihan was shocked to see the huge frame of the giant he had met in Kalel Reinar’s hideout a few days back. His armor was visibly damaged, covered in blood. His hair had been ripped out in a few places and he had scratches all over his face.

But the most disturbing thing was right in plain sight. With a missing gauntlet, his bare hand was exposed and, on the fair skin of the naren man, the bloody red traces of teeth stood out like drops of wine on a white dress.

“He’s bitten.”

 

**_((To be continued.))_ **

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
